I found this still, understated, and beautiful poem in my collection but with no name attached. I felt ashamed that I hadn’t recorded the author, but the gift of Google allowed me to find in seconds that it was by Helen Dunmore (1952-2017). She was born in the same year as me but is already dead for seven years. She had, said the Guardian obituary, a pragmatic view of death, and it’s shown in this poem: “I know I am dying/But why not keep flowering/As long as I can.”

My life’s stem was cut

My life’s stem was cut,
But quickly, lovingly
I was lifted up,
I heard the rush of the tap
And I was set in water
In the blue vase, beautiful
In lip and curve,
And here I am
Opening one petal
As the tea cools.
I wait while the sun moves
And the bees finish their dancing,
I know I am dying
But why not keep flowering
As long as I can
From my cut stem?