The Name of the Rose
Life was never boring,
Selling roses from my shop,
You were invited to visit and
You’d learn men’s secret affections.
The first to arrive was the usual fare
A well-built hunk of a man.
Tall, dark and handsome that women adore.
Twelve orange ones, he asked.
Amazed I wondered what he had in mind,
Must be a new fling no doubt.
For orange means enthusiasm and desire.
He knew well the language of sweet buds.
A newbie arrived, so shapely and cordial
A lady I knew not I was sure of it,
As she asked for a bunch of yellow blossoms.
This feeling was so hard to explain
For yellow stands for many things
Joy, gladness, friendship, Welcome Back,
Remember me, or ”I care".
Tommy, the shy one, tip toped inside,
As usual he chose the lovely pink.
It was his way to say thanks and hope
That she will always believe in him.
A couple of coral ones, how abrupt Peter was.
He knew they meant desire never lasting love.
I’d rather he never entered my oasis
For all he deserved was arid sand not bliss.
Martin was next, and how he beamed.
It was love at first sight, said he.
So I suggested as I knew,
That a lavender rose would please her most.
My friend Elise had made a coup.
So I gave her a bunch of mixed flowerets.
Peach for appreciation and white for purity.
Wasn’t Elise delighted that day?
It was almost time, needed to close shop.
When the outside door opened for the last time.
The lady I had seen early that day returned.
“You did not like my flowers?” I asked.
She nodded and then stuttering said:
“My mum has died. Just one black rose please.”
I don’t know why a tear trickled down my face.
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