A Wild Rose

He a skittish colt,

Rode hard and put away wet,

Far too many times,

Existing on scraps of kindness,

Too seldom thrown his way.

She a gangly filly,

Full of life and trust and faith,

That life and folks are intrinsically good,

Full also, of the naiveté,

Which accompanies a protected life.

Together they made an unlikely union,

So much in love, or perhaps it was lust.

When the winds and rains of life,

Blew hard against the two of them,

It was his inclination to brace against it,

With gritted teeth and shivering flesh.

Her instinct, however, was to close in for warmth.

And when nasty thorns rose up,

And showed their ugly selves,

She knew how to pluck out the flowers,

Without ever getting stung.

And he knew how to push ahead,

He got things done but missed the flowers.

She took his big strong hand in hers,

But let him lead the way,

Through bitter pain he mucked along,

And with each storm some hurt fell away,

And the sludge became solid ground,

And into the sunlight wearing the hint of a smile,,

In his hand a wild rose.