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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