Growing on hillside green
Dark as the night, Yearning to be seen.
Breathing mountain air.
Tilting that head, never hiding the flair.
Gem of nature.
Always too proud.
Rejected the freezing, so cold and so loud.
Realizing the truth.
Scared of the thunder, picked by a brute.
No wild rose left to see,
That one will always be lonely, if one chose to be.