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The Botanist

The Botanist

Painting of a small bouquet of purple violets on a beige background

She always found an hour for flowers
But could not stop for Death
Amid the flashes of haphazard dashes —
And aromas of roses on flesh.

She tarried with tulips and velveteen violets —
No time for hemlock — nor rue.
She was a certain slant of Innocence
Reflected in morning dew.