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Out in Arizona my Dad 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,
Showing off their tightly petaled spiraling centers.
Seems they climbed the trellises just to flaunt,
Dazzle the onlooker with the grace of their towering ascent,
And what beauty in their many colors,
Their outfits boasting red, and pink,
And the truest bright of yellow,
While others bore garb,
Which were infussed with hues of gold and orange.
With that said, and knowlingly I set to rivalry with nature,
What once for me had remained secret and unspoken,
This time I’ll express my feelings loud and clear,
Now one and all will hear.
Those roses never flowered like you.
No! They never looked the way,
The way you looked tonight, darling.
No doubt 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.
By solemn oath I declare,
My flattery means to please your heart,
The same as would the wrappings on any special gift.
So help me, honey, know these words,
My terms of endearment, honest and sincere.
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