The Tree’s early leafbuds
Were bursting with green,
“Shall I take them away?”
Asked the Frost, oh so mean!
“No, leave them alone,
‘Til the blossoms have grown,”
Begged the Tree while she trembled
From root to her crown.
The Tree bore her blossoms,
And all the birds sung,
“Shall I take them away?”
Asked the Wind as he swung.
“No, leave them alone,
‘Til the apples have grown,”
Said the Tree, while her blossoms
To branches they clung.
The Tree bore her fruit
In the midsummer sun;
Said the Girl, “May I please
Pick an apple, just one?”
“Of course, dear, please do;
I have grown them for you!”
Said the Tree while she bent low,
Her work at last done.
