Photo by A. Siegel

What blooms in the misty air
Why it is a sleepy flower
Dreaming in its mossy bower
Of a gentle April shower
Smiling often to the sun

How it dreams that it could run
Through the dewy grasses yonder
Stopping long enough to ponder
Other blooms with splendid wonder
Wond’ring why it cannot know them all

Oh to be a tree so tall
To see everything in the expanse
In the wind to move and dance
To have a bold and stalwart stance
And shade other flowers in bloom

But lying in its mossy room
The flower wakens from its dream
And stretches roots down to the stream
Smiling to the sun’s bright beam
Content to stay right there

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