For Mary Helen

Only the Roses

The petals of her lips I shall recall,

The crimson blush upon her rose-like cheeks,

The sadness in her eyes at blossom-fall,

Her depth of soul as only one who seeks

Enchanted by the beauty singing through

The earth she cherished in its blossoming

And in its wintry white; all things she knew,

Surrender and the mystic opening.

Only the roses matched her peerless smile

And the iris in its aristocracy

Companioned her and flowers without guile

Befriended her in silent ecstasy.

As the new-born singer fledges from its nest

Her soul now flown to Her has found its rest.