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Robert W Service - The Flower ShopRobert W Service - The Flower Shop
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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."
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