By Dorothy Parker.
One Perfect Rose
A single flower 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.
1 comment:
I am not sure what it says about me that this was one of my favorite poems in high school. I leave that analysis for another day. Happy Valentine's Day!
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