Far and out upon the Maritimes,

under the cover of darkness,

moon becoming full,

there is the Rose.

This is the journey,

you are taking,

this is the power of the feeling,

washed upon your soul.

This is the Manifest,

the fancy footstep,

the light fantastic,

the Dosado of your times.

It is the gentle touch,

the longing,

the embrace,

the brush up against.

The Rosebud,

in her youth was fancy,

now she chooses to be fine,

out on the dance floor of the Atlantic.

May I have this dance.