Do not ask me,

for I wouldn’t give it up for roses.

Do not ask it of me

for I would not put my life

in your hands and I would not

let the lingering taste of over friendly perfume

seep into my pores and cloud my judgement,

do not ask it of me.

 

Do not ask it of me,

Do not sway my mind with temptation

for I am but a weak man,

like all men, once ensnared

by the thought of the price of Heaven

and the ticket stamped one way to Hell,

do not ask it of me

for roses are never worth the cost.

 

Do not ask of me,

I implore for I am unable

to give arrange the roses,

in such a fashion that the stems strengthen,

the flower will ripen and bloom

and the pollen sacs will attract none of the bees

that reside in an aged hive,

no matter how fresh the fruit.

 

Do not bring me roses,

do not offer a bouquet

into which you hope the garden

will seem pretty and enticing,

for the bloom never lasts,

the garden will become barren

for you spent all the time cultivating one particular flower…

…Do not bring me roses.

 

Ian D. Hall 2015.