WHAT THE FLAX SAYS
The farmer sows me with his veiny hand,
And scatters me o’er his hilly land.
To see the birds I lift my head,
And watch their offspring in their bed.
With my little blue eye I look at the trees,
And hear fly o’er me the busy bees.
I bow to welcome the lark and his song,
And greet the robin the boughs among.
Butterflies flit over the hay,
Oh, flowers rejoice and welcome the day,
The dove to his mate coos in the morn,
While weeping breezes wake the corn.
Herbert McCready Age 13