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.
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