These Roses

From Nature's bounty, freely grows the small, abundant, wild rose. These true and humble mendicants depend in love on providence. The convent garden also grows, each year cutting back the rose; from gnarled stump and twisted branch, springs love defying circumstance. The gardener from long habit knows, the cutworm feeding on the rose, so none may in this garden dance, but butterflies of providence. The horrors of this world disclose the fragile beauty of the rose; was rosewood used to haft the lance that pierced His earthly circumstance? Within the soil, movement flows, the roundworm loves to feed the rose, for gardener's work, along with chance, depends on timely providence. This convent speedy time may close, and weather wither every rose, consider then, dear penitents, the wild rose's circumstance. Her hips have virtue, wounds to close, infused, her essence rivals cloves, though convent blooms have elegance, their fruit yeilds less of providence. His way passed through this world of woe, in natural life true roses grow. Retirement's rosy eloquence, disguises deadly circumstance. When convents from Dame Nature grow, retreat may help all roses know; nor wild, nor tame, their circumstance, will be secure in providence.