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Rachel Lyman Field

Miss Lucinda's Garden

Larkspur and lupin burn blue in the garden

By Miss Lucinda's door,

Clove pinks are sweet and roses bloom

Though she's been dead for more

Years than I'm old, I heard them say

Down in the village yesterday.

Tall yellow lilies crowd the path

So thick you could not pass,

And one red poppy, like a tongue

Of fire, shines in the grass.

It's strange that they should be so gay

With Miss Lucinda gone away.