The sad man was sitting in his room,

thinking of his day that was long.

He planted a blue blossom in his garden

to help the sight of his small stead.

His stead was unsightly with dying spew

spread over the floor with its cloth

that was pitched when the room was new.

A way of going back was what he sought.

Sometimes he would think of his folk,

how they oft worked the field of leaves

much better than the smell of filth

all thruout his room that he saw.

Just then the pitch of a young girl clung in his ear.

She came in the man's room beading for the blossom

He drunk her askings which was a speech of whispers.

The girl with red hair was given the blue blossom.

The feeling of care shut the leave taking from his tung.

And at last he was filled with shortness of breath.

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