A Flower Show - Poem by Rosalie Sparks
The meek waves of sun wash by,
Scattering 'cross a thousand beauties wild,
Cold and soft, not hurting,
The soft cheeks of a hundred blossoms.
The damp air, perfumed sweet
And colors spread wide abroad,
Like a kaleidoscope, the blooms
Stare at me, from all angles.
Red, yellow, orange, white,
Blues and hues dark and light,
A show of virgin beauties
Of all origins and descents.
The throng of amused over-shade
The blend of shapes and craft, oh, strange!
Stretched across the horizon far,
What indeed, is a better treat?
Some proud heads, raised far up
Afraid to lose or yield?
Yet among those descendants noble,
Servile heads so drooping by.
The young and old, fresh and dying,
Some welcoming, some not,
While soothing is the touch of some,
Ladies some do hide by fangs.
And sages so, perfectly pure
Alone and aloof, from the tempting world,
The lively youth, arrogantly plaid,
With flashing colors, summoning bugs.
Yes, a world alone is for flowers,
A kingdom ever-hailing,
Who, but He alone,
Could make this land a place to adore?
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