That is your little playmate, Jane, His coffin, with its flowers; You will not play with him again, For hours, my child – and hours! With head bowed down to hide her grief, She faltered, with a sigh: 'To have such lovely flowers as his – Would any child not die!' | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ST. FRANCIS EINSTEIN OF THE DAFFODILS (FIRST VERSION) by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW OUR SOLDIERS' SANTIAGO SONG by DAVID GRAHAM ADEE THE PACIFIC RAILWAY by C. R. BALLARD EVENING MYSTERY by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN |