Dig Those Flowers Up Poem by Mark Heathcote

Dig those flowers up, my love.
Day and night
Week after week, my love
If you fear you cannot control them
And equally fear you cannot mould them.
Toss them into the fire.
And make yourself a little funeral pyre.
Rinse those little darlings out of your skin and hair.
Don't let them perform any wistful notes of magic.
Where the birds may sing and nest
We shouldn't want any shabby brown sparrows.
To chitter-chatter and pulp out their awful breast
And thinking -by George, this place is the best.