A pretty flower reminds me of you.

The flowers in my garden Enjoy the bright warm sun And Grandma likes to water them When her other jobs are done.   Some have smiling faces, Some have eyes of blue. They brighten up dark places And make me think of you.
	Beware the very prettiest flower That lightens up the morn. It smiles and says: "Please pick me And I'll stab you with a thorn."   Some flowers have a heavy scent With perfume, sweet as Mum, And some flowers smell, quite strangely, Just like a horse's tail.
Once I plucked a pretty flower, And quickly gave a squawk. It was a smiling Wild Rose, The State flower of New York.   Next time I'm out in New York State I'll give the Rose a miss. New Yorkers must be funny folk To choose a flower like this.
	Now Grandma spends a lot of time With pots and soil and flowers. She makes the plants all stand up straight. Won't let them move for hours.   She makes such pretty patterns; The rabbits come to see And, when she is not looking, They eat them up for tea.
If I step out at bedtime, To breathe the evening air, I hear the flowers whispering. They always know I'm there.   For that is when the garden Begins it's night-time think. Before the flowers close their eyes They often give a wink.
	And if you get up early They are washing in the dew. They like to have clean faces Before they smile at you.   But Mildred Mangolina Just takes one dewy sip, For she has found some ribbon and Is learning how to skip. Read by Daniel, aged 5 yrs 2 mos, Jul 2000