Simplicity As if to change my mind, to keep me here,
that rose put on a show this year!
She budded far too soon – in early May –
and seemed to know I could or would not stay
my hand, but needs must pick a small
to sit beside me through my busy day.
It drew my eyes – their every upward glance
was caught by roses bending in a dance.
The chorus flared their ruffled skirts at me,
and, waiting to unfurl her frock, I'd see
the première danseuse, a tapered bud
of Renoir blush that whispered ardent blood.
Romantic fallacy? Of course, I know.
But still, that rose was putting on a show.
– Jean Chapman Snow
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