by Dorothy Parker
A single flow'r he sent me, since we met.
All tenderly his messenger he chose;
Deep-hearted, pure, with scented dew still wet -
One perfect rose.
I knew the language of the floweret;
'My fragile leaves,' it said, 'his heart enclose.'
Love long has taken for his amulet
One perfect rose.
Why is it no one ever sent me yet
One perfect limousine, do you suppose?
Ah no, it's always just my luck to get
One perfect rose.
Comments : A typical Dorothy Parker poem, though not as incisive as some of her other ones; thanks for sending me the poem, S.
If you want to read one of her best, click on this link to read 'Resume'. You'll find links to a lot of her other work after the comments on that page.
Enjoy !
- Zen
