Poem by Robert William Service

The Flower Shop

Because I have no garden and
No pence to buy,
Before the flower shop I stand
And sigh.
The beauty of the Springtide spills
In glowing posies
Of voilets and daffodils
And roses.

And as I see that joy of bloom,
Sad sighing,
I think of Mother in her room,
Lone lying.
She babbles of the garden fair
Her childhood knew,
And how she gathered roses there
In joyous dew.

I shiver in the street so grey,
Yet still I stop;
In gutter grime it seems so gay,
This flower shop...
"Oh Mister, could you spare one rose?"
(There now, I'm crying),
"For Mother,--every blossom knows
--Is dying."

1. Local Lad
2. Spanish Women
3. Shiela
4. The Front Tooth
5. Barcelona

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