A single flow'r he sent me since we met.
All tenderly his messenger he chose;
Deep-hearted, pure, with scented dew still wet -
One perfect rose.
All tenderly his messenger he chose;
Deep-hearted, pure, with scented dew still wet -
One perfect rose.
'My fragile leaves,' it said, 'his heart enclose.'
Love long has taken for his amulet
One perfect rose.
Why is it no one ever sent me yet
One perfect limousine, do you suppose?
Ah, no, it's always just my luck to get
One perfect rose.
Dorothy Parker
One perfect limousine, do you suppose?
Ah, no, it's always just my luck to get
One perfect rose.
Dorothy Parker
As a teenager I adored Dorothy Parker's witty verse and memorized much of it. Only later did I learn more about her acerbic book reviews in the New Yorker under the byline 'Constant Reader' and her immortal response to The House at Pooh Corner: "Tonstant Weader frowed up."
Still later I encountered her short stories -- bleak, but beautifully written -- and learned more about her life. Not a happy lady, I'm afraid. But that light verse of hers will rattle round in my head forever.
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