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| The Rose Story Strong, tall, and straight, showing leaves along its base. A rose it stood among the rest, Petals make it's face. A stamen but a freckle, a thorn with which to hold. To protect, it's fragile life, from those who are so bold. All other flowers pretty, but none that I can see. Will ever hold a candle to, no, it can not be. It's scent so aromatic, it's colors all aglow. Artists palette it could be, colors of a rainbow. Soft velvet petals to the touch, melt when the day is done. to open up the morning next, absorb the daylight sun. It stands outright,in a class I'm told, Queens laid them at their feet. So all who gathered round her there, could smell the air so sweet. Tho Daffodills and Daiseys, Four O Clocks to name a few. Each pretty in their own way, and each will catch the dew. But how it takes the dewdrops, makes nectar,takes its shape. Goes beyond natures rules, splenderous beauty, it will take. I know, Iv'e not forgotten, Orchids, Lillies, and some more. But those are foreign, exotics, climates different, different shores. Not saying their your favorites, only mine to take the the blame. But name another flower, So many poems, that bear its name. The Masked Writer <-.-> (C) 2001 T Lovett |
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