Just words

Wild roses

I knew her.
Her beauty had tempted me for many months.
She would dance with me when the songs were good.
She was a long-legged woman who had wild blue eyes and loved the whisky and the long night.

I loved her blond hair and kind and sweet voice.
She told me often.
“Wild roses grow where they want. They know pretty lies and story. The wild rose grows near the river and the thorns can make you bleed for the remnant of love is left and lulls the breath of wishes, that cannot be fulfilled. Old lovers may weep but the wild rose cannot.”

I told her often. Free men fear not the wild rose. The taste of the sweet kiss and the loving embrace would be enough. Dark is the night and loneliness is the night when…