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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