Wild Love

The blackberry's love for the garden rose Brought down the gardener's wrath. The blackberry sensed the danger As he wended the garden path. " A love so true as mine", he sighed, "Must dare to brave the hoe. Just a few more feet to reach her, My true love she must know." He crept along so quietly, Sometimes quite out of sight Until he nudged his darling's feet. Did he dare to trust the light? He heard the gardener's heavy boot And hid in craven shame. He knew he'd soon be weeded out, A seedling with no name. "Have I no worth since I don't rate Some Latin nomenclature? Without a well known parentage Am I a freak of nature? His darling's line was long and pure, No skeletons in her past. He had to make his feelings known. Those boots were treading fast. Gently then he wrapped his vine Around his loved one's spine. In great amazement he opined, "Her thorns are sharp as mine". The sweet rose felt his tender touch And realized his fear And wondered at his bravery In coming to her here. She heard the swishing of the hoe, She heard those nearing feet. Quietly letting down her leaves In a manner so discreet She covered her wild lover. The gardener unaware, Stopped but to view her beauty. He saw naught hiding there. She whispered, "You are safe now". The blackberry's heart was light, Thankful that his dear sweet rose Had not exposed his plight. "A rose is still a rose." she said, "By any other name And in our distant ancestry, We share some of the same". "I'd rather know your wild love, Than a love that's dull and tame," Cuddling close, returned his kiss Without a bit of shame. Next season there were seedlings Of a very different kind. The gardener delighted, cried "A horticultural find." The moral of this story? Things aren't always what they seem. The love you look down on today, Could be tomorrow's dream.