High upon a hill in spring
The garden sits in view.
Birds are madly chirping
And the roses full of dew.
They glisten in the morning light
Their color shining thru.
The darling buds of pink and white
Red and yellows too.
Those magic little faces
That poke right out at you.
Smiling as you pass them
Enchanting thru and thru.
Hoping for selection
So ready to enhance.
Wish that things were different
You wouldn’t stand a chance.
When you have a name my friend
They’ll let you enter then.
Not enough you’ve passed the test
Or outshone all of them.
I’m sorry little rose of mine
Alas it is but true.
You’ll never get to be a Queen
Without a name for you.
Cheryl Moore
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-rose-that-will-never-be-queen/
