Other Than Roses
"The moonlight fades from flower and rose",
Withdrawing from them its sepulchral light,
So they become nothing but what they are,
Garden flowers in nightly repose.
They are what they are in poetry or prose,
Botanical specimens of art,
An artist could capture them by day,
If, passing the garden, he so chose.
What flowers they are, nobody knows,
Since only the rose is mentioned by name,
Possibly to distinguish it from
Plants of a less symbolic pose.
But who needs poetry about those?
Leave them to whom they may delight,
As I draw this verse to a close.
Copyright © Beth Evans | Year Posted 2020
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