A Toast to the Wild Rose

Here is to the Wild Rose

In the brush and bramble

Where friends call me by name

And are at ease to pass the handle

The only place where

Lighting bugs light the way

And peepers lull you to sleep

Even in the hot midday

Where the babbling brook

Can't stop telling stories

Of myths and legends

And of all the glories

Trees stand tall

Never revealing the truths

Of our tricks and trades

Of what happens behind the booths

Grass bending in the wind

Whispers of the good people within

Who are all friends and family

And can call us all kin

So here is to the Wild Rose

May she always be my one true home