The Little Old Poem That Nobody Reads Blooms In A Crowded Space, Like A Ground-Vine Blossom, So Low In The Weeds That Nobody Sees Its Face - Unless, Perchance, The Reader'S Eye Stares Through A Yawn, And Hurries By, For No One Wants, Or Loves, Or Heeds, The Little Old Poem That Nobody Reads. The Little Old Poem That Nobody Reads Was Written - Where? - And When? Maybe A Hand Of Goodly Deeds Thrilled As It Held The Pen: Maybe The Fountain Whence It Came Was A Heart Brimmed O'Er With Tears Of Shame, And Maybe Its Creed Is The Worst Of Creeds - The Little Old Poem That Nobody Reads. But, Little Old Poem That Nobody Reads, Holding You Here Above The Wound Of A Heart That Warmly Bleeds For All That Knows Not Love, I Well Believe If The Old World Knew As Dear A Friend As I Find In You, That Friend Would Tell It That All It Needs Is The Little Old Poem That Nobody Reads.