Stopping by flowers in a spring day

Whose flowers these are I think I know
His meticulous care of them sweeps through

He will not see me stopping
To watch his flowers sway around with blow

My intimate must think it surprising
To stop without a beer exciting

Between the flowers the the wide blue lake
The sweetest smelling of the spring.

He gives his watering pot a shake
To test if there is any mistake

The only other sound's the wave
Of wide lake and slight breeze make.

The flowers are lovely precious and brave
But I have reasons to leave

And keep going lake a slave
And keep going lake a slave