go said the farmer to his wife in december go and fetch the rose that grows in Hillside no said his wife as she straightened his blanket and so that night the farmer died
the very next day she set out a walkin’ clutching close to her breast the Rose of Hillside so though the frigid day was a knife cutting through her deep down she was warm inside
far above the farmer’s wife an eagle was flying deep in the brush there were eyes blinking wide she felt as though the forest were leaning down on her all bending towards the Rose of Hillside
there is a town not far from here called alpha omega where the buildings are as tall as the streets are wide the farmer’s wife came through and the whole town was empty the people there know about the Rose of Hillside
all of this i watched with great anticipation that a lifetime of sorrow would soon subside for standing on my porch the farmer’s wife a hand of giving and in the middle of her palm the rose of hillside
