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CROSS POLLINATION 

My garden, it is well established.
Still I go to contemplate
A certain bed of wild flowers,
Just outside my garden gate.

My love is like a red, red rose.
Which is a good thing, I suppose,
But, at the risk of sounding silly,
There is a certain tiger lily:
Bright, defiant, full of fire,
That fills me with a strange desire.

I've worked hard at tending roses,
Weeding, pruning, working late-
Yet there is something on the breeze
That beckons me beyond the gate.

My love is like a red, red rose.
Which is a good thing, I suppose,
So let the wild world go to seed,
Thought need not give way to deed,
Or lead poor gardeners by their noses:
I'm content with tending roses.