The sad man was sitting in his room,
thinking of his day that was long.
He planted a blue blossom in his garden
to help the sight of his small stead.
His stead was unsightly with dying spew
spread over the floor with its cloth
that was pitched when the room was new.
A way of going back was what he sought.
Sometimes he would think of his folk,
how they oft worked the field of leaves
much better than the smell of filth
all thruout his room that he saw.
Just then the pitch of a young girl clung in his ear.
She came in the man's room beading for the blossom
He drunk her askings which was a speech of whispers.
The girl with red hair was given the blue blossom.
The feeling of care shut the leave taking from his tung.
And at last he was filled with shortness of breath.