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Arthur Symons - The Gardener
Work rating: Low

The gardener in his old brown hands 
Turns over the brown earth, 
As if he loves and understands 
The flowers before their birth, 
The fragile childish little strands 
He buries in the earth. 

Like pious children one by one 
He sets them head by head, 
And draws the clothes when all is done, 
Closely about each head. 
And leaves his children to sleep on 
In the one quiet bed.
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