T.S. Eliot

poems:

15

before morning

While all the East was weaving red with gray, the flowers at the window turned toward dawn, petal on petal, waiting for the day, fresh flowers, withered flowers, flowers of dawn. This morning’s flowers and flowers of yesterday their fragrance drifts across the room at dawn, fragrance of bloom and fragrance of decay, fresh flowers, withered flowers, flowers of dawn.

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