And be filled with dirt from stem to stern, where posies and such could grow.
Painted to beat the band, with vines strung over the sides
And red geraniums in the bow,—a boat that was built for water
Made into a flower garden. I looked, but I didn't laugh,
For I thought of the old sea captain living in town with his daughter.
Sometimes, slow moving through unlovely days,
The need to look on beauty falls on me
As on the blind the anguished wish to see,