Beautiful roses
I can only pick one
from the fertile field in which beauty is born
All those roses, receive no different quantity
of sunlight or attention
I sniff each one
Some smell better
but others are lighter to hold
and some are ready and some are not
If I pick one, I cannot so easily put it back
Regretful or not, 'tis done and that's that.
The field so full of them all under this blissful sun
As they are all so tender and deserving
Beautiful roses
I can only pick one