Dorothy Parker
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 love enclose.’
Love long had taken from 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.
Back to My Favorite Poems Page
Back to Main Garden