Iris


~

She stands alone

    apart from the rest.

 ~

She’s different,

    yet,    Nay,

she’s the same!

~

Because of this

    I like her best,

insouciance lends value to fame.

~

So tall,

so proud,

    so flagrantly loud;

though beauty

    is the name

of her game.

~

Naked young Iris,

    nubile young flower,

what makes thee desirous

    that so rends my power?

 ~

Minute by minute

    each dear

    puerile hour

slips slowly

    but surely

away –

~

short life,

    my sorrow,

for this precious

    young flower.

One month,

    at the most,

will she stay.

~

Then quick

    as the arrow,

she’s gone

    on the morrow.

 ~

So quick

    is her life

that way.

~

Thus thou dost bringeth

    both sweet Love and Sorrow.

Two gifts in one,

    from a  flower.

 ~

Iris,     desirous,

    I wish thee to stay;

but such

    is the Love,

by the hour,

    and the day.

.

.

.

.

.

[Revised 02 February 2012]

Copyright © 2012 Marvin Loyd Welborn. All Rights Reserved.

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