Two roses plucked from gardens fine
For gentle Sue and Caroline,
Whose souls were sundered far from mine
At Hades’ gate.
As streamlets swell with April rain,
And Mother’s eyes are lined with pain,
And schoolgirls gossip on the train,
This, too, is fate.

Two daffodils that bloomed and died
On gentle banks by river’s side;
Offerings we laid at Eastertide
Here, and we wept.
Beside the hillock in the lee,
Beneath the shade of oaken tree
We knelt, and prayed so longingly;
Yet still they slept.

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