His hands were rough, but his heart was kind,
His face was worn, but with wrinkles of laughter.

Her heart was cold, haughty her face,
her hands with fingers like needles.

She was abrupt when he came to call,
He was laid back and took it in stride.

He saw something inside her,
No one else had ever seen.

So he courted the pale blossom,
often he’d bring flowers.

They would lay on her mantle,
wither into dust she forgot to water.

He took her out riding into the woods
early one Sunday morning so bright.

When she saw the vast expanse of his mountains
She changed and became warm.

She accept his proposal and they were wed,
Winter and spring melded together again.