I have a lovely rambling rose
Beside the narrow path that goes
Towards the shed and the onion bed.
Every time I pass her way
My rose tugs at my sleeve with her thorny arms,
And does her best to make me stay.
Soon everyone will know
My unwilling entanglement with this flower.
She rips my padded jacket as I pass,
So puffs of down are spread around
And show my tracks wherever I go.
Each day she tears at all my clothes,
This lovely, clinging rambling rose.
I shall make another path,
The straight and narrow,
But broad enough for my wheelbarrow,
As I move from chore to chore.
I will leave my rose to grow in peace,
And hope her arms and prickly hands
Will catch my sleeve no more.