Deaths of Flowers, by E J Scovell

I would if I could choose
Age and die outwards as a tulip does;
Not as this iris drawing in, in-coiling
Its complex strange taut inflorescence, willing
Itself a bud again - though all achieved is
No more than a closed sadness,

The tears of gum not flowing.
I would choose the tulip's reckless way of going;
Whose petals answer light, altering by fractions
From closed to wide, from one through many perfections,
Till wrecked, flamboyant, strayed beyond recall,
Like flakes of fire they piecemeal fall.

Totally love this - and so apt for this day - my Mum's funeral service. The amazing thing was that the flowers were tulips (which I knew about) and irises (which I didn't), and they were just beautiful. The photo is of my Mum in 1960.

She did live like a tulip, altering through many perfections right up till the end. And I do choose to live like that as well, God helping me.