Fringed Gentians

 Near where I live there is a lake
As blue as blue can be, winds make
It dance as they go blowing by.
I think it curtseys to the sky.
It's just a lake of lovely flowers And my Mamma says they are ours; But they are not like those we grow To be our very own, you know.
We have a splendid garden, there Are lots of flowers everywhere; Roses, and pinks, and four o'clocks And hollyhocks, and evening stocks.
Mamma lets us pick them, but never Must we pick any gentians -- ever! For if we carried them away They'd die of homesickness that day.

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