In Praise of a Flower: the Honeysuckle Rose
I remember the first day we met
In the morning dew soft and wet
The mist of love upon your breath
And you blushing like Negril sunset
I remember your flared dress
Your perfect beauty and loveliness
May tongue longing for your breast
Engorged globes of happiness.
My father caught me open mouthed
Just when honey visions sprouted
Honeysuckle was the word he qouted
While the butterflies there floated
But I heard before men called you
Morning glory, passion red and new
I touched your petallous lips and knew
My heart would always belong to you.
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