Fresh are the flowers, misted bouquet from morning dew
Your blossoming splendor, holds in awe those spying you
The roses of crimson, fade in glory trellised toward the sky
Lattice holding them aloft; alone you stand head held high

Fresh are the flowers, twisted bouquet along trodden path
Rainbow of mingled array, among them I kneel set to task
Gently gathered one by one, each due my patience and care
Arranged in bundled neatness, I'm off to you know where

Fresh are the flowers, fisted bouquet readily given away
A present to a lady fair, hopefully she will ask me to stay
An aromatic assortment, the sweetness picked just for you
Fresh are the flowers, but they'll never compare to you

© C.E. Vance