Always The Roses Poem by Karen Edwards

Daises dreading the inevitable,
eventual choice of the nervous young man
scanning the flora. Never the pick, passed over
in spite their fresh, innocent appearance. Always the
roses, with their velvety petals, and sweet fragrance,
even the brutal thorns do not dissuade.

Water lilies, beautifully displayed
around the koi pond, hunger to be wanted,
not left, day after day as a bouquet of roses
takes center stage, yet again.

Careening precariously, the radiant sunflower
reaches out for attention, in a desperate
attempt to block the dozen
violet buds behind it from view. A wasted
effort, as it is knocked back into its vase.

Red, yellow, pink, they have so many shades,
each with a special meaning, every blossom in the shop
secretly longs to be one. To possess
even for a moment, the prestige that even the
name carries with it. With each ring of
the bell on the front door,
mounting bitterness spreads from the
exotic orchids, to the spicy scented carnations,
never are they the belle of the ball,
they are all just wallflowers, waiting to dance.