letra de robert louis stevenson - the gardener - richard mitchley
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the gardener does not love to talk
he makes me keep the gravel walk;
and when he puts his tools away
he locks the door and takes the key
away behind the currant row
where no one else but cook may go
far in the plots, i see him dig
old and serious, brown and big
he digs the flowers, green, red and blue
nor wishes to be spoken to
he digs the flowers and cuts the hay
and never seems to want to play
silly gardener! summer goes
and winter comes with pinching toes
when in the garden bare and brown
you must lay your barrow down
well now, and while the summer stays
to profit by these garden days
o how much wiser you would be
to play at indian wars with me!
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