And ruffles so pink as to tease,
The warmth of the air complements our remembrance,
When we breathe in the delights of its fragrance,
With the wafting perfume,
So we have come to know,
It could only be the wild rose,
As we visited Hawthorne Park this spring,
It is the purple finches we listened to,
For each will sweetly sing,
Those wild roses will play with the breeze,
Luscious and pale green moments throughout those trees,
So wild as these roses could be,
Many soft with light watery paintings for her from me.
