When we locked up the house at night,
We always locked the flowers outside
And cut them off from the window light.
The time I dreamed the door was tried
And brushed with buttons upon sleeves,
The flowers were out there with the thieves.
Yet nobody molested them!
We did find one nasturtium
Upon the steps with bitten stem.
I may have been to blame for that:
I always thought it must have been
Some flower I played with as I sat
At dusk to watch the moon down early.
This poem is in the public domain.
From Mountain Interval (Henry Holt, 1916)