Walk not my little dear
on the land so muddy
lest your clothes smear
by the soil smudgy.

You are not born
for the lowly task, like me,
your life is adorn,
instead,
with mirth and glee.

I feel so ashamed
of my sully hands ***** of mud,
how can I wish to touch your cheek
and cuddle it if I could.

But my little princess royale,
my sweetheart, you should know,
that the sapling I sow today
if yours when you grow,

The most precious rose
for my most precious dear
and I care little if remembered
as a mere gardener.