The flower when picked is too often depetalled
To find the fickle
luck end of lust,
But some go so
far as to rend unto element -
To cut ovules
and anthers, and count pollen dust.
The educated are shy to even touch the bloom,
But cup it from
behind to admire with eye.
They study the
whole: the parts, the scent
And it gives to
these without having to die.
But worse than the killer and far from the noble gazer
Are those that
never seek the glorious flower.
The poem in
creation, ignored and passed
When the fool
thinks seen the beauty of the hour ...
Smell the roses.
Copyright © Jason
Horsler
04/06/96
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