And never went there again.”
“The Loon sings very well,” said the Rabbit, when the Donkey suggested that somebody else might wish to favor the company. “Sing us that ballad called If, old fellow.”
“I should like to hear it,” said the Donkey, and courteously offered the use of his lute. But the Loon declined it, saying that he always sang without music, which, it turned out, was no more than the truth; for the noise he made could hardly be called music. And besides, as Buddie said, there wasn’t any sense to the words. However, this was the Loon’s song:
“If thistles grew on plum-trees,
And plums were wayside flowers,
We’d trudge along together,
And never mind the weather,
If gum-shoes grew on gum-trees,
To pluck in April showers—
If thistles grew on plum-trees,