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I know the colour rose, and it is lovely,
    But not when it ripens in a tumour;
    And healing greens, leaves and grass, so springlike,
    In limbs that fester are not springlike.

    So in the simple blessing of a rainbow,
    In the bevelled edge of a sunlit mirror,
    I have seen visible, Death’s artifact
    Like a soldier’s ribbon on a tunic tacked.

by Dannie Abse

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