I was mowing the lawn,

I looked up and saw one Star Rose,

anchored in the bird bath, as if she had grown there,

just as the skies cleared

from a loud thunderstorm.

I was surprised, pleased,

I turned off the mower,

and ran to get my camera.

Will you pose for me?,

I asked.

No, said the Star Rose,

I never pose, that is the problem

with every photo of a rose that I see,

they look so posed,

we are a formal flower,

uptight, really.

You can take my photo,

but I came to the bird bath naturally,

the wind blew me right off that

bush on the top of the stone wall,

and I will die here in a day or so,

as you know.

I am a strong woman,

I do not need to pose,

shoot away.

But you can do me a favor,

she said, blushing a bit.

Sure, what?, I asked.

Maybe put me in a jar,

in your office,

give me more time.

Take another photo.

We are a vain flower, of course.

Of course, I said.