One Perfect Rose

A single flow'r he sent me, since we met,
All tenderly his messenger he chose;
Deep-hearted pure, with scented dew still wet - -
One perfect rose.

I know the language of the floweret.
“My fragile leaves,” it said, “his heart enclose.”
Love long has taken for his amulet
One perfect rose.

Why is it no one ever sent yet
One perfect limousine, do you suppose?
Ah no, it's always just my luck to get
One perfect rose.
Dorothy Parker

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• Poem