The Florist Shop

Florist shops are beautiful,

All damply green and dimly cool,

And the men who keep them are sure to be

A little baggy about the knee,

With voices pleasant and rather low

From living along with things that grow;

For you can't stay noisy and hurried where

Petal on petal fills the air

With spiciness, and every tree

Is hung with gayest greenery.

Grocers bustle and butchers shout,

Tradesmen tramp noisily in and out,

But florists are quiet men and kind,

With a sort of fragrance of the mind.