Of a parting oft rehearsed, once performed

bring me no purple carnations
the flowers of my skin are not of my seeding
though seeds i’ve sown by the bushel

bring me no yellow wreaths
the rings of my eyes are not of my crying
though tears i have by the bucket

bring me no red roses
the blooms of my hands are not of my pruning
though prune i did by the bundle

bring me no white lillies
the droop of my lids are not of my sleeping
though sleep i sought by the hour

bring me no black tulips
the cloth of my dress is not of my cutting
though dressings i had by the metre

bring me no green leaves
the shrubs of my surrounds are not of my choosing
though choices i made by this staying

bring me no brown stems
the soil of my garden is not of my digging
though dig i have by my silence

bring me peace
the remains of my world are of my resting

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