I gathered a rare little flower
Where they stood in a beautiful bed,
And grew in rich profusion,
Some white, some pink, some red.

My selection was one of a crimson hue,
On whose waxen petals the glistening dew
Shone like diamonds, whose perfume so faint
Would enrapture the senses of sinner or saint.

This flower was the girl I chose
To be gladden my home when skies are gray,
To weep with me, and with me to play.

To be a lass, a girl, a flower,
To gladden every living hour,
To be a companion, playmate, friend,
True and loyal to the end.

R.J. Colton • © 1929