A Daisy For My Lady

A jug of wine, a book of verse and thou, Beneath kind trees that spread their green leaves shady My sheeps heart beats with love and I seek now A daisy that this sheep may give his lady I know, though full of love, I'm just a sheep No one I think realistically supposes That one like me can voice his love though deep With fancy flowers like orchids or like roses Nor does this sheep have much in pounds and pence To make pretence for more would just be crazy So I must make the most of sheepish sense My Valentine shall be a single daisy And so I trotted to the flower shop 'Excuse me, Mr Flower Man', said I 'Do you, perchance, have ready in your stock, A daisy that this little sheep can buy?' The Flower Man, he looked way down at me His cold frown pierced my wool fleece cruelly deep 'I did not start in business,' muttered he 'To waste time selling common weeds to sheep.' Again, I fail! It's my memorium No flower, no leaf, no stem, not even root By air I left the flower emporium Propelled aloft by Mr Flowerman's boot 'Tis cruel, the worldly ways I must endure Oft ridiculed and often wounded sore But hero-like, my love forever pure Burns fierce and earnest right through to my core I hope one day my princess thinks on me Perhaps she'll sigh; perhaps she'll shed a tear For one whose woolly dreams could never be For one she spurned, yet always held her dear.