Wild Roses

Beside the country lane wild roses grow; Each year it looks the same, how well I know, For I walk down this road when work is done, And often in the golden setting sun I see you stand beside the hedge again, And all the joy returns, and all the pain.

The salt sea breeze mingles with hay and clover, Gulls whirl and cry; the summer’s almost over. Wild rose, with thorns your beauty can’t conceal, Waken afresh the anguish that I feel. The tide goes out, the barren rocks look grey, Sea-gulls fly by and only memories stay.