I love to hear the reaper’s noise
Go clicking past the rill,
For then we know ‘tis harvest time,
In valley and in hill.
And the farmers now are busy,
Working hard their barns to fill.
I love to see the little lark
Soar upward to the sky,
And send its carol down to say,
“You must no longer lie.
For the sun is shining brightly
Making corn like golden dye.”
Selina Gaston Age 11