One Single Rose
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.
I knew the language of the floweret;
"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.
For a little summary of the life of Dorothy Parker, the founder of the Algonquin Round Table, click
here. And does the Algonquin remain a
NYC legend? Yes. Even if you don't work at The New Yorker, you can stop by anytime and have a drink on the sofas in the old-timey, England-feeling, not-fancy front room.