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.”

“Take courage, sweet neighbor!” The Violet said; And raised in entreaty Her delicate head;

“The children are thoughtless, I own, in my turn; But if we all teach them, They cannot but learn.”

“The lesson,” said the Alders, “Is a simple one, indeed, Where no root is, blooms no flower, Where no flower is, no seed.”

“’Tis very well said!” chirped the Robin, From the elm tree fluttering down; “If you’ll write on your leaves such a lesson, I’ll distribute them over the town.”

“Oh, write it, dear Alders!” the Innocents cried, Their pretty eyes tearfully blue, “You are older than we are; you’re strong and you’re wise-- There’s none but would listen to you!”

But, ah! the Alders could not write; And though the Robin knew The art as well as any bird-- Or so he said--he flew Straight up the hill and far away, Remarking as he went, He had a business errand And was not on pleasure bent.

Did the children learn the lesson, Though ’twas never written down? We shall know when, gay and blithesome, Lady Summer comes to town.