THE DYING FLOWER
O tiny, fragile thing! Why should you feel Death’s sting? Have they no pity born To see you so forlorn?
Crushed by a ruthless hand. Left, all alone, to stand ’Neath wind and driving ram, How suffered you the strain. For you, dear flower, I mourn. So withered, lifeless, torn. Once fragrant, perfumed, gay. Now, on your heaven-ward way. ’MATE WALLFLOWER, L.8.H., A.8.H., Spreydon. When is a man not a man? When he’s a snow-man. What is a room you can’t get into? A mushroom.
Permanent link to this item
https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/CHP19380205.2.19.19.3
Bibliographic details
Press, Volume LXXIV, Issue 22319, 5 February 1938, Page 6 (Supplement)
Word Count
88THE DYING FLOWER Press, Volume LXXIV, Issue 22319, 5 February 1938, Page 6 (Supplement)
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Acknowledgements
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