I saw the harsh sun beat against the glade,
I saw two blades there gleaming in the sun,
Two swords there shining, as if on parade,
And the blackbirds watching them, as one.
A gentleman in white arranged his sleeve,
He seemed to me a large camellia,
A pink flower on the branch I did conceive,
Pink as....and then a blade flashed nearer.
– I see red...ah yes, that’s right: we kill by rote –
...A white camellia – there – like His throat...
A yellow one – here – crumpled, in the mud...
Love, dead, fallen from me, in an hour...
– Mine, the open wound, the spring flower!
camellia, living, all dyed with blood.