I
O, I can tell when I get to my corner,
Where to turn in going to my house.
On the other corners along the avenue,
Northward and southward where the cars grind,
Are saloons and drug stores,
Glaring with signals and bright glass.
On both sides of the street the same,
One block like the next.
But on my corner is a florist’s shop
With ferns in the window
And sweet-peas and roses,
Glowing with red and pink and yellow.
And sometimes pansies
And moss.
Each night as I step down from the car
There the flowers are waiting
To say I have got home.
And I linger
Seeing gardens.