Mamma, I saw a flower,
O sitting on our sink,
Reflected against the marble,
Just begging for a drink.

And, Mamma, it was so pretty,
O sitting on our sink,
Bathing in its yellow bloom,
As though I was the sun!

O, Mamma, I left it sleeping
Upon a white cravat,
Positioned right at twelve o’clock,
Away from the slippery grime.

But, O Mamma, when I woke,
And galloped down the stairs,
My pretty flower was browning,
Like her muddy petals were drowning.

I did not keep her like a trophy,
But wrapped her up in white.
And, Mamma, I said goodnight,
To that pale and yellow light.

O, Mamma, our sink is empty!
Now what shall we do?
Without my pretty flower,
It’s only me and you.

But, O Mamma, I love you so,
That our sink will never be empty,
Even when no flowers bloom
I’ll fill it with the beauty new.

For, Mamma, I saw a flower,
O blooming on my soul,
And felt at once that tender love
That is ever true.