A Wise Waiting

A blushing little Mayflower Turned away her head, Too polite to let a weed Hear a word she said.

“I don’t think it nice at all, (I would make a fuss), Goldenrod should bloom, of course, In the spring with us!

“It is hard to wait so long, Till midsummer hours; I should get discouraged, quite, Waiting so for flowers.”

Near the wall a modest plant Twinkled in the dew; She heard all that had been said,-- Mayflower never knew.

Soon she whispered to a robin; He her secret told,-- “All this waiting means a changing Into sunny gold!”