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My Rambling Rose

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.