Rose Fields
I am but a field, and on me grows grain
Not a flower in sight, within my domain
For long has it been since I saw such a thing
My flowers were picked not one day after spring
I lay not alone here, no I do have a friend
Cow pens to the east, over a wall end to end
And from that great sty, though weak be my eyes
I make out a figure, a sight I despise
A girl coming running, in the distance I see
With a bouquet of roses as bright as can be
At the thought I recoil with such envy and pride
As why should the cows have a rose by their side
Is this just greed, or yet more below
I question myself, what burdens me so
That the rose does not grow on my side of the wall
Or that it may bloom happily, not caring at all