Tulips - Poem by June Walker
A row of sergeant-majors
stands to attention beside the girders
of the glass-house. Wearing wine red busbies
above lime green uniform stalks:
a thin red line on parade.
After spring's magnificent bloom:
shrivelled petals,3 up,3 down-
like a row of blood-torn crimson irises,
or an army limping home.
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