Perched atop a table, surrounded by some jazz
Sits a pink rose as glamorous as
A golden age Hollywood starlet
This rose is nocturnal, resides in her own darkness
The rose lives in shades of grey
Like the remnants of cigarettes in a nearby ashtray
With the occasional ring of cherry red lipstick
Her intoxicating perfume makes men sick
The fragrance of a pink rose
Never does as shes told
Circulates the room like a cloud of smoke
And dances around as if life were a joke
Almost transparent in the full moon’s light
A breeze knocks the perfume out of sight
Natural Beauty is an oddity of her own
With blush pink petals, this rose stands alone
The fragrance drifts out of town
Near some trailer parks, waiting for something to go down
Traveled along the highway’s long, slick road
The fragrance belongs in a dream world of her own
Some dare to bottle her, capture her essence
Fools! Will they ever learn their lesson?
Somethings must remain untouched by man
For they have been beautiful since their lives began.
This poem is inspired by
Josef Breitenbach’s artwork, “Fragrance of a Pink Rose”,
New York, 1945.