Along a dusty road it grows
the Wild Rose.
Not planted by man
or grown for woman.
Tho' its fragrance and beauty
far exceed any queen's dynasty.
In delicate shades of pink and white
it creeps along the dusty road with might
into the gully and over the fence.
The wind picks up the delicate fragrance
attracting the little insects to pollinate
the open petals so they may propagate
to make the red-ripe rose hips;
glistening in the sun as summer slips
into autumn and make a tasty meal
for those fortunate animals that to them appeal.
Then as winter comes with its freeze
the animals' droppings are planting the seeds
for God's next Spring.
Planted there by the roadside they will bring
much joy to Him and us, if only we stop
long enough to know this treasure spot.
It looks like something WILD, this rose
and so we call it 'Wild Rose' for where it grows.
Only God knows how tame it really is.
It performs its duty with reverence and humbleness.
If only one thing you observe in this life
stop long enough to see this rose in its strife.
Dusty, dry, and hard soil; yet there it grows
fragrant and beautiful;
'To A Wild Rose.'
