The Rose-Seller

“How wonderful are the roses!”

The mother cried,

And pointed at them to her daughter

“Unreal they are”


Sunshine lashed at the roses

Ethereal in their glory

Red, the colour of spring

Shining brilliantly throughout the road.


And there were white,

The colour of joy, the measure

Of contentment, and they laughed

And shook time with their mirth


And the seller saw, the

Interest his beauties had got

Hobbled to the mother and

“2 for 1, madam.”


But the mother, still admiring

Shook her head, “no”

And continued to walk away

Leaving those roses, so gay.

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