He bought it for her birthday,
But then he went away.
She wore it day after day
And when asked why, she said,
“These flowers replace the dead.”
She wore it when he returned
From far away in a urn.
She wore it when she was burned.
Her two sisters in return
Wore black and gray dresses
And hacked at their tresses,
Waiting, unable to yearn,
No hope even in flowers,
Tombed in the soberest hours.
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