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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