Wild roses whisper softly in the hush before the dawn,

their petals trembling with a warmth

that seems to wait for you alone.

In the quiet of the early breeze,

where memories drift like silver threads,

the ancient forest breathes your name

and folds its light around your steps.

Of all the forest’s lycopodium green

and the meadow’s wild roses,

of the lesser butterfly orchids, calamints

and the timid forget-me-nots,

a coronet of flowers I would wreathe

and slip in amongst the leaves,

cotton grass from the widespread mire

just for you and the joy you’d got.

And in each fragile bloom I place

a part of what I cannot say,

the longing that grows quietly

whenever you are far away.

’Cause all that fairest blooms

in sun-kissed faded lands,

and all that smiles and longs

within holt, glen and hillside,

wants to rise like the lark’s singing

around the path where you walk,

wants to gently touch your hair

with vivid dreams’ peace of mind.

For every breath of summer

is shaped to follow you,

a tender choir of daylight

that guards the world you move through.

Where trembling aspens shimmer bright

and silver birches murmur low,

I gather every tender light

that early summers sow.

The moss beneath your footsteps

keeps stories soft and old,

telling how the earth remembers

every truth your heart has told.

And when you pause in quiet glades,

where the shadows lean to hear,

the wind itself grows softer

just because you’re standing near.

’Cause all that fairest blooms

in sun-kissed faded lands,

and all that smiles and longs

within holt, glen and hillside,

wants to rise like the lark’s singing

around the path where you walk,

wants to gently touch your hair

with vivid dreams’ peace of mind.

The streams reflect your presence

in silver-threaded gleam,

as if the waters understood

the cradle of your dreams.

But the coronets, they wither,

and the larks — they all fall silent,

when the sousaphone of autumn sounds

in its soot-red sundown.

And like an outcast stranger,

the longing drifts across the moor,

where dark firs softly whisper

their heavy melancholy song.

Yet even in the fading light,

when hollow winds grow deep,

the summer keeps its promises

in seeds the night can’t keep.

For when the dusk grows colder

and the winds turn sharp and thin,

the memories glow faintly

yet linger deep within.

Every leaf that falls around you

still carries summer’s sign —

that beauty once was blooming

inside your heart and mine.

And though the skies grow heavy,

though seasons shift and sigh,

the echo of your gentle warmth

still colors all the sky.

But if you stay within the murmur,

in the green halls of summer,

one day when the sky’s dome

shines clear and blue,

you shall gently perceive

the wild roses of the heart

no frost can ever destroy,

nor winter ever consume.

For hidden in the quiet soil

are roots that never sleep,

holding close the tenderness

that time was sworn to keep.

And when the night grows quiet,

you’ll hear them breathe again —

the hidden blooms of courage

that live beneath your skin.

Every storm that ever touched you

could never tear apart

the soft, enduring garden

that thrives inside your heart.

And though the world may darken,

and shadows stretch and bend,

your spirit bears a lantern

the night can’t comprehend.

’Cause all that fairest blooms

in sun-kissed faded lands,

and all that smiles and longs

within holt, glen and hillside,

wants to rise like the lark’s singing

around the path where you walk,

wants to gently touch your hair

with vivid dreams’ peace of mind.

For every breath of twilight

still carries your light through,

a promise shaped in silence —

the world grows bright with you.

And all that fairest blooms

will guard you where you roam,

the wild roses of the heart

will lead your spirit home.

Through winter, rain and shadows,

their fire will remain —

a crown of living wonder

no darkness can restrain.

And wherever future calls you,

whatever roads unfold,

the roses keep their vigil

around your inner gold.

So walk where summers linger,

where the softest dreams are sown,

for the wild roses of the heart

will always be your own.

Their petals glow within you,

no matter where you stand —

an endless field of quiet light

that blooms at your command.