The Young Girl

The young girl walked amongst the daisies.
Making little posies.
She sat in the meadow in pink,
and basked in the sun to think.

When I grow up I want to this and that.
In the meadow where she is sat.
With a basket on her arm,
to take back to the farm!

I’ll show Ma my posies
and I’ll maybe add roses.
Dad will say, “What are those?”
Ma will smile at the rose.

The young girl then walked home.
Along the path throughout the field.
Swinging her basket by her side,
with her posies yield.

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