Classic Poem

Her garden was a tiny space,
But bright with many a simple flower,
I grew to love her withered face
When passing every sunset hour.

I knew her heart would smile to hear
A stranger praise her violet plots,
And tinkling fuchsia bells, and dear
Pansies and shy forget-me-nots.

Yet still I passed in silence, while
Her spirit flowered in that sweet place.
Alas! I never saw the smile
I might have kindled in her face.