O where do you come from, berries red,
Nuts, apples and plums, that hang ripe overhead,
Sweet, juicy grapes, with your rich purple hue,
Saying, “Pick us and eat us; we’re growing for you?”
O, where do you come from, bright flower and fair,
That please with your colors and fragrance so rare,
Glowing with sunshine or sparkling with dew?
“We are blooming for dear little children like you.”
“Our roots are our mouths, taking food from the ground,