Her sweet breath fell warm and soft
like a gentle prairie breeze
wafting the scent of wild rose,
delicate, but mostly wild.
Her mane, red and dangerous,
sometimes concealed then revealed
chameleon-like features,
an emotional rainbow.
Her full lips would pout or smile
like a sudden summer storm —
thunder, lightning then sunshine,
frighteningly beautiful.
Temperament like a mustang,
skittish, demanding patience,
or she would bolt for the wild.
Gentleness would subdue her.
For a while she could be held,
raging passion directed,
hunger could be satisfied
briefly, then she would be gone.
I would not hope to contain
or to harness the wildness.
For me she will always be
my sweet, delicate, wild rose.
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Dennis Cardiff: Poems and Prose 
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