Tell me, blade, and leaf, and bud;
Flowers so fair, and grass so green,
Growing out of clay and mud,
How it is you're all so clean.
Gabriel Setoun.
Meadow Talk
"Don't pick all the flowers!" cried Daisy one day
To a rosy-cheeked boy who was passing her way;
"If you take every one, you will very soon see
That when next summer comes, not a bud will there be!"
"Quite true!" said the Clover,
"And over and over
I've sung that same song
To whoe'er came along."
Quoth the Buttercup, "I
Have not been at all shy
In impressing that rule
On each child of the school."
"I've touched the same subject,"
Said Timothy Grass.
"'Leave just a few flowers!'
I beg, as they pass."
Sighed a shy little Fern,
From her home in the shade,
"About pulling up roots,
What a protest I've made!"
"The children are heedless!"
The Gentian declared,
"When my blossom-time comes,
Not a bud will be spared."