The roses are bedded for winter, the tulips are planted for spring; <br />The robins and martins have left us; there are only the sparrows to sing. <br />The garden seems solemnly silent, awaiting its blankets of snow, <br />And I feel like a lonely old fellow with nowhere to turn or to go. <br />All summer I've hovered about them, all summer they've nodded at me; <br />I've wandered and waited among them the first pink of blossom to see; <br />I've known them and loved and caressed them, and now all their splendor has fled, <br />And the harsh winds of winter all tell me the friends of my garden are dead. <br />I'm a lonely old fellow, that's certain. All winter with nothing to do <br />But sit by the window recalling the days when my skies were all blue; <br />But my heart is not given to sorrow and never my lips shall complain, <br />For winter shall pass and the sunshine shall give me my roses again. <br />And so for the friends that have vanished, the friends that they tell me are dead, <br />Who have traveled the road to God's Acres and sleep where the willows are spread; <br />They have left me a lonely old fellow to sit here and dream by the pane, <br />But I know, like the friends of my garden, we shall all meet together again.<br /><br />Edgar Albert Guest<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-lonely-old-fellow/
