Four Red Roses, Not Twelve, Six, or Eight


Four Red Roses

I asked her to close her eyes,

Behind my back I held a surprise,

Impatiently she clapped her hands,

Wanting to claim her prize,

I held four red roses just out of her reach,

With directions attached by a bow to each,

The first rose, dewy fresh and thorn free,

Had a note that said, “Touch me tenderly,”

She discovered how velvety soft it could be,

By rubbing it gently against her face,

I said, “That’s the way we should embrace,”

The next note read, “My aroma does compel,”

The rose was open, its fragrant petals to smell,

She sniffed and smiled faintly, she liked it as well,

The third, she nibbled daintily, just a little taste,

She placed it by the other two, so as not to waste,

She glanced again at the roses, then to me she faced,

Before she could utter a word, not one word at all,

She spied the fourth rose, leaning against the wall,

“This rose is only a bud, how can it enthrall?”

Her gaze was upon me as I began to explain,

“This rosebud represents love on a much higher plane,

It’s a rose that you can see, but inside the beauty remains,

And as it opens, your senses must be a part,

I want this rose to capture your heart,

Our love, our dreams will get a quick start,

When this rose is open it will have to compete,

With all that the world offers, and yet be discrete,

Love will conquer the world if our love is complete,

I can no longer keep my love suppressed,

I’m presenting these roses along with a request,

Say you’ll marry me and your love express,”

“Four red roses and each with work to do,

Four red roses that claim your love is true,

Four red roses, yes, I’ll marry you!”

Four red roses, not twelve, six, or eight,

Four red roses that completely held my fate,

All the roses I could afford, on that important date.

2 thoughts on “Four Red Roses, Not Twelve, Six, or Eight

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