A Collaborative Poem by E. M. T. and F. R. S.
We walked in a garden of roses,
Miss Jane, Sir Cupid, and I—
Nay, rather, she walked by herself,
And never would answer me why.
The more I besought her, still farther
And farther she flitted ahead,
Laughing and scattering roses—
Roses, the white and the red.
At last she gave me her “reason;”