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Sep 2018
A dozen whitened lilies,
Choked in renaissance jewels,

Each cut gripping the stalks
and tugging the leather lips.

They stain like daffodils.

And though grand,
Their speckled folds ooze death itself,
Like a beggar with heightened pride.

The string of scarlet tenses
and the stalks smothered,
each head refused nourishment,

They wither.
Written by
Németi Csenge
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