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James Whitcomb Riley - Them Flowers
Work rating: Low

Take a feller `at`s sick and laid up on the shelf,
    All shaky, and ga`nted, and pore--
  Jes all so knocked out he can`t handle hisself
    With a stiff upper-lip any more;
  Shet him up all alone in the gloom of a room
    As dark as the tomb, and as grim,
  And then take and send him some roses in bloom,
    And you can have fun out o` him!

  You`ve ketched him `fore now--when his liver was sound
    And his appetite notched like a saw--
  A-mockin` you, mayby, fer romancin` round
    With a big posy-bunch in yer paw;
  But you ketch him, say, when his health is away,
    And he`s flat on his back in distress,
  And _then_ you kin trot out yer little bokay
    And not be insulted, I guess!

  You see, it`s like this, what his weaknesses is,--
    Them flowers makes him think of the days
  Of his innocent youth, and that mother o` his,
    And the roses that _she_ us`t to raise:--
  So here, all alone with the roses you send--
    Bein` sick and all trimbly and faint,--
  My eyes is--my eyes is--my eyes is--old friend--
    Is a-leakin`--I`m blamed ef they ain`t!
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