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.