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Alone in the world was poor little Anne |
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As sweet a young child as you'd find. |
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Her parents had gone to their final reward |
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Leavin' their baby behind. |
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(Did you hear?) |
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This poor little child was only nine years of age |
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when mother and dad went away; |
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Still she brav-el-y worked |
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At the one thing she knew |
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to earn her few pennies a day. |
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She made artificial flowers, artificial flowers, |
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Flowers for ladies of fashion to wear; |
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She made artificial flowers, you know those artificial flowers, |
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Fashions from Annie's despair. |
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With paper and shears, with some wire and wax |
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She made up each tulip and mum. |
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As snowflakes drifted into her tenement room |
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Her baby little fingers grew numb. |
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From makin' artificial flowers, those artificial flowers |
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Flowers for ladies of high fashion to wear. |
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She made artificial flowers, artificial flowers |
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Made from Annie's despair. |
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They found little Annie all covered in ice |
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Still clutchin' her poor frozen shears |
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Amidst all the blossoms she had fashioned by hand |
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And watered with all her young tears. |
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There must be a heaven where little Annie can play |
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In heavenly gardens and bowers. |
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And instea-a-ad of a halo she'll wear 'round her head |
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A garland of genuine flowers. |
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No more artificial flowers; |
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Throw away those artificial flowers, |
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Flowers for ladies of society to wear. |
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Throw away those artificial flowers, |
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Those dumb-dumb flowers, |
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Fashioned from Annie's, |
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Fashioned from A-a-a-annie's |
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Des-pa-a-a-air. |
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(Give her the real thing!) |
