TOTTIE’S GRAVE.

Kumara Times, Issue 487, 18 April 1878, Page 4

TOTTIE’S GRAVE.

[From London Figaro.] ’Taint much of a garden, I know, sir, But still, ’tis the best we could do, For ’twaa me and her mother that made it, And planted and tended it, too. There’s many a grave hereabouts, sir, As is grander and finer than ours, With its headstone all sculptured so finely, Its costly and beautiful flowers ; For ours is quite homely and simple, And the plants are not costly nor rare, But there aint very many, I think, sir, As are tended with such loving care. For she was our own little lassie, Nor ever another we had, But the Lord thought it best for to take her, And ’tis useless to grieve or be sad. So we bear our great loss without murmur, Tho’ we cherish her memory dear, And we plant on her grave all the flowers She loved best when she was down here. There’s the primrose and violet and pansy, From the woods where she loved to v The buttercup, cowslip, and daisy, From the fields where she went every day. We gather of each in its season, The heather, and bluebell, and fem, From the very same spot where she plucked them. And plant them all here in their turn. And that wooden cross over yonder In my time of an evening 1 made, I know ’tis but rough and uncouth like, But it shows where our dalring is laid. And her mother and me often think, sir, She looks down on us from above, As we water and tend to her garden She sees our sweet labor of love.