Poinsettia

YOUR head has fallen, lovely flower, Your scarlet plumes downcast; Since I plucked you, lovely flower Scarce afternoon has passed.

You wore a scarlet silken shawl Your eyes were lit and gay; ’

Pirate loot was this silken shawl: You prized your red array.

You swept me by in this scarlet rig, Your shoulders taunting swing; This stolen shawl from a Spanish brig, Loot of a pirate king.

Gold was your hair on this scarlet shawl Lacen and shivering hair; Your lips were fair on this scarlet shawl Scarlet and quivering fair.

You lovely thing from the Caribbean, Provocative dancer you, In your scarlet shawl from the Caribbean, Your lips are scarlet, too.

So I stole you, girl, for my own desire, Girl m a stolen shawl; I ransomed you for my own desire— I wanted your scarlet shawl.

And I wanted your scar Let lips, girl, To taunt me in my room; I craved the taste of your red lips, girl, Ere they had lost their bloom.

But you droop and die, my lovely flower What of your shawl of red?

It slips from your shoulders, lovely flower.

Leaving you naked and dead.

Thursday I. 21/5/1944.