Wasteful

If I could find the perfect flower—

Some rose that never died—

I’d hold it for about an hour,

Then toss the thing aside.

And if I saw the brightest star,

I’d turn my eyes away;

I’d search for something less afar—

Some dullard of the day.

Your love for me is much too sweet,

So I must let it waste:

I’ll always lose the rarest treat

For lesser pleasures’ taste.

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