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Famous Women Poets

    Deaths of Flowers

    I would if I could choose
    Age and die outwards as a tulip does;
    Not as this iris drawing in, in-coiling
    Its complex strange taut inflorescence, willing
    Itself a bud again - though all achieved is
    No more than a clenched sadness,

    The tears of gum not flowing.
    I would choose the tulips reckless way of going;
    Whose petals answer light, altering by fractions
    From closed to wide, from one through many perfections,
    Til wreched, flamboyant, strayed beyond recall,
    Like flakes of fire they piecemeal fall.

    - Edith Joy Scovell


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