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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Beside a gilded wall of white a dainty bench is resting; Victorian accents swirl about the ornate room, providing An elegance, a beauty in each line and curve, attesting To cultured tastes and upscale life, and hours spent deciding What shapes and colors best would suit the airy, springtime feeling: But looking closely, something there upon the bench reposes, A lady's fan and soft kid gloves, their jumbled state revealing What hasty movements cast them all aside when fragrant roses Arrived in state with baby's breath, and some white note, nigh hidden In bursting blooms of rainbow hue, by unknown hands delivered: And having noted thus, the eye could not but roam unbidden To she who holds the rose bouquet, to she who slightly shivered With thoughts that youths so oft imagine, thoughts that made her giddy And blushed her cheeks the color of the rosy dress cascading With lacy ruffles from her shoulders, looking just as pretty As her face, which looks for all the world like roses never fading; Two lips like shiny cherries, or the poppies that she tends to, Complexion like a creamy rose with hints of pink surrounding The fragile outer curling of its leaves; brown eyes that send you A warm, quick-spreading feeling, like the first hot sunrays bounding Thro' seas of blue to make the greengrass grow. Now look, she's taking The little note from out among the stems; perhaps with quiet And careful steps the message could be read; I have to try it. "My dearest Rose, I never could imagine so befitting A name for one who does resemble all that man finds charming In lovely blossoms: beauty surely, grace as they are flitting In breezes sweet of scent, and frailty, which I find disarming; So here's a gift no prettier and sweet than you. Sincerely, A man that loves you more than you could know. Quatrains of decapentasyllabic verse followed by a single line of iambic pentameter. Written by Isaiah Zerbst. Published for the first time January 26, 2015.
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