A Rose Of Some Graces Poem by Mark Heathcote

Like petals of a rose not-fully-formed
arranged, tightly knit and barely scented.
Love, that's appertaining to-some-magic
the kind of charm that makes all bees frantic.

Such innocents; bewitches the hearts of men
a long slender neckline - equestrienne
looking pale-skinned and fine in black jodhpurs
setting hearts racing for loving favours.

Not body sprayed all over hard-core types
mudpack faces that plastic archetype
dusk to dawn, with combed hair into a pompadour.
'Not that kind of woman all hearts race for.'

Men want feisty yet a-little-demure
not full of slapheads full of manure.
Not some loud female barbershop quartet
a rose of some graces - we want to procure
love eternally for twos duet.