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SIX TRIOLETS Our gardener loved his flowers, (No one else dared stake a claim), If picked he'd sulk for hours, For our gardener loved his flowers, Even sniffed he stands and glowers Till I crept away in shame. Our gardener loved his flowers, (No one else dared stake a claim). In France my garden's Jose's As he very soon made plain. At dusk he comes and hoses, For my garden's really Jose's, I can pick les autres choses But the veg are his domain, For the potager is Jose's As he very soon made plain. I love to see mimosa Making Spring's first golden claim, And I go to look much closer, (For I love the gold mimosa), But I must protest "Oh no, Sir, Wattle is its proper name!" I love the gold mimosa Far from home, but still the same. ...
Source: HighBeam Research, Six Triolets.(Poem)