The Flower-Cart Man

When it's just past April

And going on May,

The bent old Flower Man

Comes our way.

His clothes are very baggy,

His horse is lean and gray,

But, like a walking garden,

His cart with plants is gay.

All filled with nodding rose trees

To make your parlor bright,

With tulips for your table,

Or daisies gold and white.

With pansy plants and lilies,

Primrose and daffodil,

And red geraniums in pots

To trim your window sill.

Everywhere his cart goes

The air smells sweet,

As the gray horse and he

Jog from street to street.

They say that Spring's a lady

And it may be so,

Though she never stopped on our street

As far as I know—

But the bent old Flower Man

Comes our way,

When it's just past April

And going on May.