Wild Rosehip grew by roadside in the dusty stony soil,
The thorny shrub, by life's dull prose tough struggle hardened,
Being unaware that indistinguished are its heart and soul
From ones of rose, which lives in beauty of well cared garden.

But Gardener instilled in lonely bush hope's stalk - to cure its past loneliness and worry,
And blossomed it in Spring, to the surprise of self, with shine of tender fragranced glory ...
That morning wrote the bard his best love song, the song, with feelings passion fired,
- To fame the beauty of the one, to whom his heart belongs, by nature's miracle inspired.