AN OLD GARDEN
In my old Savannah garden,
There roses and jasmine grew
And many sweet for-get-me-nots
Of lovely shades of blue.
Japonica's waxen blossoms
Of purest white and pink,
Wistarias with honey cups
From which the bees could drink.
Sweet old-time shrubs whose odors
Filled all the sun-kissed air
And many another beauty
Of "Flora" was found there;
So one would think that garden
A place of pure delight,
But, alas, not so since Tom Cat
Sang ditties there each night.