Mum, I still remember the lovely poem you used to recite: I went down a lonely lane today, Nobody else goes down that way. The flowers and ferns that grow there wild, Never I fancy, have seen a child. Red rose campion blushed so red, The buttercup nodded her golden head. The speedwell peeped, with blue eyes at me, And the rose hung over the path to see. I will not gather you sweet wild flowers And carry you home to the town to die. But I'll come each day, Down that lonely way, And nod you a greeting as I go by.