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SWEET
TALK
Out
in Arizona my Dad,
He
grew roses.
He
embraced the great merit,
Loved
to say,
How
he enjoyed cultivating his own garden.
That
spot he tended along side the house,
It
was the love of his retirement.
I
saw those roses disporting,
Performing
and they were real pretty,
But
I must say aloud,
They
never flowered like you.
They
never looked the way
You
looked tonight, darling.
Though
some may find this verse coy,
No
more than borrowed phrase and imagery
Notions
common in the language of the heart,
Yet
I swear to it. I tell the truth,
The
same as if I stood in court of law
My
right hand raised, the left upon the Holy Book.
I
ask that you accept my plight.
Know
that the risk of divine displeasure informs it.
Whatever
the flattery animating this verse,
Its
terms of endearment are sincere and honest.
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