Last dandelion of the year
I pluck you from the failing grass
And in my button-hole I press,
To carry you about, my dear.
Along the shops that line the square
I’ll see your sweet reflection, gay,
And shoppers quite delighted stare,
Then happily skip on their way.
I could have left you lying lone,
But none did see what I did see—
That you were at your brightest tone,
And come tomorrow would not be.
Together now we take the air,
Down avenues, and up again,
So you can see the city, fair,
And hear the joy of working men.
Now night comes, snowy stars appear,
And while of spring I singing stand,
Last dandelion of the year,
I crush your sweetness in my hand.