Twelve Red Roses

(From Joyce on my Sixtieth Birthday)

Only a Master could conceive of you

And put conception into living form:

Your chalices adorned with pearls of dew,

A perfect symmetry of line to charm,

Breathtaking artistry, a matchless norm.

So like a blushing bride, each fragrant bloom!

No mere coquettes, you are sincere and warm.

Your loveliness enchants away all gloom

And brings the splendor of a palace to my room.