Three Roses

Snow gently falls on petals so frail,
Yet I have nothing to cover their tale.
Three roses within the blizzard I carry,
Whispers wonder, "for an evening, who will they marry?"

In a chic boutique, they stood so fine,
Their fragrance luring this heart of mine.
Delicately passed with a smile so bright,
By a graceful hand, a lovely sight.

Luxurious, refined, these roses in bloom,
As I gazed into her eyes, dispelling the gloom.
"Do you like them?" she softly said,
"Yes, I do, a decent price," my reply led.

"Shall we bestow upon your lovely dame?"
"Fined?" To whom shall we present this bouquet?"
She flashed her eyes, a silvery flame,
"That's for... an acquaintance, not a lady," she'd say.

I stepped out with a bouquet in the lane,
March all around, yet snow does remain.
With my breath, I warm the roses' bloom,
For so long, these roses, I did not assume.

To whom familiar on the 8th of March?
For a lady's heart? Enough of that, hark!
My three roses, whose gift are you, I mark?
In the snow, beneath my coat, they embark.

My three roses on the 8th of March,
This unearthly beauty, I shall embark.
Not for a heartbreak, gift of love's art,
To the world, these roses, my gentle spark.