A Garden Party

What a pity flowers can utter no sound A singing rose, a whispering violet around What a rare miracle would it be if unbound! And the rarest when my Iris comes around Not alone but rounded by irises with scent Of her all pervading round the table laid Can behold her all-enriched face decent You are my genus Iris, sharp-shaped maid Showy colored displaying the rainbow color Your mesmerizing eyes, green and deepened Deeper than the depth like those stilled waters Those eyes felt at break of the day enlivened. Iris, welcome to the party with heart full of love Let me feel your gentleness of a dove. +++++++ July 7, 2014 Form: Contemporary sonnet Fifth Place win Contest: Garden Party