I saw on the slopes of Mount Manitou,
In the rays of the summer sun,
A beautiful blossom of beryl blue
That the Weaver of nature spun.
Its daisy-like petals were plush indeed
Yet this flower of well renown
Had stemmed from the stalk of a worthless weed
To be garbed in a gorgeous gown.
I paused to caress it with courtly care
So its face I could clearly see
I bowed and said, "Thank you 0 Flora Fair,"
And it lovingly smiled at me.