It was perfect, in that moment
like a blue-sky fall afternoon
or the crisp morning after snowfall—
my child perfectly described its scent
with, “Yum!” (and my mind objected
we do not eat roses often, do we?)
But the next day, I looked and thought
it is now too big; the smell will be all
pale subtleties and gaudy petals
over saturated, powderless, common—
meaning beauty is time, as well as
form, function, and all the categories
I never learned.
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