A Flower Show
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?