04/14/2024
Death of Flowers
I would if I could choose
Age and die outwards as a tulip does;
Not as this iris drawing in, in-coiling
It's complex strange taut infloresence, willing
Itself a bud again -though all achieved is
No more than a clenched sadness,
The tears of gum not flowing.
I would chose the tulip's reckless way of going;
Whose pedals answer light, altering by fractions
From closed to wide, from one through many perfections,
Till wrecked, flamboyant, strayed beyond recall,
Like flakes of fire they placement fall.
- E. J. Scovell
