So Purple And Delicate A Flower Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I can hardly imagine how
Purple and delicate the flower
I wish to find while sleeping insouciant
In the weeds,
So smooth and waspish as to be
Dismissed by academia;
But oh to touch the cheek of her
Limpid sorority, barely burnished,
Drooling sleep on her ruffled pillow;
Stepping up early enough on the
Worn stage to cut my teeth,
To be her harrumphing thespian:
I could be her Scottish thistle,
And as she walked by my worksite,
Demure and transcendental,
Her legs clicking like timid reindeer
On the firm concrete;
I would show my appreciation,
While she went to and fro with her
Expensive shopping,
Smooth skin as dull as porcelain,
Buying all the sheer delicacies her father
Gives her:
I would whistle, I would whistle
Her appearance of brevity there beside me,
Like fading coincidence, rich and occidental;
But would she turn her head, though,
So purple and delicate a flower?