Unpicked Poem by Nellie Isabelle Steward Cooper

Not to be chosen that was
The sting
Drinking bitter medicines
Or Sweet
Could not cure us
We did not get well:
We had fallen too early

Under the evil spell...
Not privy to our fate
Or the ordering of it

All that was left was
hate-

We were not one
Of the lucky nine
Or the lucky eleven
Or the lucky five
or the lucky one...

Not knowing the ways
Of choosing
We had never the less had to
Choose:
And choosing became the
Ultimate hatred: