Friday, August 9, 2013

A Truer Rose

by Jen Hunt, from the archives

A truer flower has ne’er been found
In florist’s house or gardener’s ground
The rose in the bud vase
Dethorned, yet unbruised
Stem cut, death imminent
Standing proud as a Jew
Her petals, arms open
Her leaves like shy hands
Her scent like the perfume
Of faraway lands
Accustomed to sunlight
And cool evening dew
Now basking in halogen
Admirers few
Plucked from reality
Splendor unreal
Fleeting perfection
Platonic ideal
Petals like porcelain
Crafted to last
Though brief be her moment
In life’s hourglass
A truer flower has ne’er been found
In florist’s house or gardener’s ground

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