An Iris

An Iris in bloom—clean and pure—
And untarnished by anemone's allure—
Flows aimless towards an Orchid spread
But, missing the Rosebud riverbed,
Courses through the Savage thorns
Unheeding of what the banded carnation forewarns
And though wine-stained tulips may never call
And midnight violets will never fall
Nasturtiums only come to those who try
So with sweetpea we must bid goodbye.



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