Beatrice M. M. Connell
chime in tune
The song of the crickets telling Summer’s soon.
Birds fly free like the gentle spring breeze
That rustles the branches of a peaceful
Apple Tree full of rosy blossoms.
As the blossoms fall they’re like the April
Rains coming down to tell the seeds nestled in
The earth’s soil that May is soon to come.
Soon it is May and the pony’s foals frolic in the
Blooming meadows while the Cows moo
a long slow