Beautiful and perfectly formed
Is the hot house rose
There is no wind or turbulence
To crush it while it grows
There is no blistering hot sun
No rain that’s pelting down
There’s only gentle growing lights
And softly moistened ground
So perfect is the hot house rose
And yet without fragrance
For while it’s perfect in its form
It lacks a true essence
The garden rose is less perfect,
It’s blemished here and there;
Yet its fragrance rules the garden
And fills the summer air.
For it is born of spring’s cold rains
And warmed by Sol’s fierce light,
And from its heart adversity
Draws beauties sweet and bright.
No comments:
Post a Comment