He soon earned his first battle scar,
When he went to war, but then he went too far,
Past barb, bullet, and fallen comrades,
Through fog and bog as hope slowly fades.

Cannon and shot heard all around,
But trembling bushes hear no sound.
Valiantly still he held his own,
But treacherous powers had him blown.

His eyes wandered to the lateral rose,
Blossom he desired, but thorns he chose.
Equal in the dust made, his crimson slowly flowed,
Replenishing parched dirt; the petals slowly glowed.

The clouds since roll above this hallowed place,
Where smiling cherubs give Boreas chase,
And each that hears the singing bushes knows,
The ballad of the warrior and his rose.