Wednesday, 30 January 2013

One Perfect Rose by Dorothy Parker - Weekly Poem

A single flow'r he sent me, since we met.

All tenderly his messenger he chose;

Deep-hearted, pure, with scented dew still wet
One perfect rose.

I knew the language of the floweret;
'My fragile leaves,' it said, 'his heart enclose.'
Love long has taken for his amulet
One perfect rose.

Why is it no one ever sent me yet

One perfect limousine, do you suppose?

Ah no, it's always just my luck to get

One perfect rose.

Find out more about the witty Dorothy Parker  (August 22, 1893 – June 7, 1967) here 

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