Poem

Tulipmania

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Next time, why not the crocus? Why not the spoon, the pinwheel, or the plum? The lowliest token might have and might still become the lodestar of all focus,

chalice of all desire; or once more this Dutch bulb (as by a switch thrown someplace) might ignite a continent-wide itch, a rage—its stock spike higher,

tremble, and never settle until a bubble swallowing all the earth bursts, wiping out entire empires’ worth of worth without troubling one petal.