Good morning, Mistress Violet, 
I’ll rest me a bit near you,
If you’ll allow, for far I’ve tramped 
And tramped the whole night through.

It’s brave you are, wee bit of a flower,
To live far away from us all
And never lamenting because you are swell,
Nor crying because you’re not tall!

The blue of the skies descended upon you,
A drop of the perfume of Heaven is yours
To bring joy to the joyless and hope to the saddened,
What more would you have than THAT, Mam,
Wee bringer of joy to us all?

There are those who would paint you with gaudiest colours,
Who see not the hand of the Maker in you,
Who scoff at your perfume because it’s not novel,
Who never can love what is simple and true!

Now what do you think about THAT, Mam?

For them is the song of the lark an old story,
The piping of thrushes old-fashioned and stale,
The voice of the simple, the lovely and true –
Can ne’er such joyless souls regale,

Please pardon me, Mam, for singing like this
And do not look askance, 
For it’s only the deafest or mortally demented
Who give me ever a chance!

Cease your gibb’ring and list to my lay!

Good day now, Mistress Violet, 
I must take leave of you,
If you’ll allow, for I must tramp
And tramp the whole day through,

You give me heart to face the hill,
No matter how rocky the road,
To live unseen and die unsung
And joyfully carry my load!