The flowers you sent me
Were all in bloom.
All fresh, live and cheery,
No sign of gloom.
Some shy like the bride,
Some brave and bold.
Some fresh with dew,
Like timid marigold.
Never to forget the graceful pose;
The dew on the lip of a rose.
Some stand like emperors
Who need no guard.
Some bend and droop
To give them regard.
Some hide like a child
Behind mother's robe.
Some face each other
To share news of hope.
But fresh is the memory of that sweet pose;
The dew on the lip of a rose.
They captured my gaze
For long, long hours.
Soft, joyous and pure beauty,
Praise the Creator's powers.
So gentle to resist,
The touch of air.
Glorious, radiant and sweet-scented,
Tender, frail and fair.
Precious is the memory of that stately pose;
The dew on the lip of a rose.
Is this the end of mortal beauty?
Short-lived, fulfilled the Creator's duty.
Just in bloom, wither so fast,
Nature has its way aghast.
Their twinkling inward flashes
On the tender soul will last.
The lively view of the flowers in bloom
Reminds one of the Creator's part.
It surpasses the memory of that charming pose;
The dew on the lip of a rose.
This poem was originally written by Late Rashida D. Barar, wife of Dr. Frank S.K. Barar.
