Old Fashioned Roses

by James Whitcomb Riley

They ain't no style about 'em,
 And they're sort o' pale and faded
Yit the doorway here without 'em
 Would be lonesomer, and shaded
  With a good 'eal blacker shadder
   Than the morning-glories makes
  And the sunshine would look sadder
   Fer their good old-fashion' sakes.

I like 'em 'cause they kind o'
 Sort o' make a feller like 'em!
And I tell you, when I find a
 Bunch out whur the sun kin strike 'em,
  It allus sets me thinkin'
   O' the ones 'at used to grow
  And peek in through the chinkin'
   O' the cabin, don't you know!

And then I think o' mother,
 And how she ust to love 'em -
When they wuzn't any other,
 'Less she found 'em up above 'em!
  And her eyes, afore she shut 'em,
   Whispered with a smile and said
  We must pick a bunch and putt 'em
   In her hand when she wuz dead.

But, as I wuz a-sayin',
 They ain't no style about 'em
Very gaudy er displayin',
 But I wouldn't be without 'em, -
  'Cause I'm happier in these posies,
   And hollyhawks and sich,
  Than the hummin'-bird 'at noses
   In the roses of the rich.