Roses for the Show

I am clipped, groomed, and posed and ready for the show.
The judges have their eye on me; I am sure I’m all a glow.
The time draws near; I am poised with heads held high.
What’s this? A man approaches, his hand my stems do grip. Oh my!
Then his steps so gracefully among the crowd do glide.
He whispers to a lovely lady, “A bouquet for my bride.”
The judges come and go with pens their marks to my dismay.
Genteelly she inhales, the prize forgotten, this my inclusive day.

Poem
Beverly Hooks