I'm sure they would be happier outside;
You're sure they would give greater joy indoors.
I'm certain they would take far greater pride
In brightening the earth; you plead the cause
Of wards in hospitals, and brides' bouquets,
And city churches where the weary go,
And drab bed-sitters that knew better days . . .
Until, defeated, I - who help them grow,
And marvel as each shoot breaks through the soil,
And plan the borders with green-fingered care
That every specimen should be a foil
To best display the others growing there -
Am silenced. Cut them if you must, but take
Your scissors gently, for the garden's sake.
