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Days when trade is dull I dream of flowers that do not grow in dozens Wired for a funeral or a fête. Somewhere I imagine meadows swaying With whatever colour they may be, Ten thousand thousand blossoms Free their hearts To a robin or a chick-a-dee. And I may pull them for everyone's possession. Companion all the city children, To old ladies send surprise bouquets, Pin a flower on my lover's jacket Every noon at one. And if the sun is over-hot with shining And the night is late to come, It is no matter. There'll be just as many more Tomorrow morning Fresh to feel the sun.