One Flower

Nature's parable is the rose Where beauty with pain entwines, Burgeoning blossoms atop thorny stems Ready to sting fumbling fingers. Reverence brings its own rewards: To inhale the dizzying scent,bow your head, Hold off,riveted by richness of hue Fresher than fresco, Gaze upon the delicate whorls Whereon Cellinis have tried their art, Their icons paling beside the ardent blooms. Virginal and seductive are those buds Opening shyly and moistly to the sun's soft caress. Velvet to the touch their melting petals, Full blooms are wenches,fully ripe at their erotic peak. Diffidence surfaces as the petals spread and lose their sheen; Bereft of flowers,saw-edged teeth stand starkly menacing. Memory,recoiling from raw reality, Glorifies the fading pleasures Until the masquerade revels anew.