Why Blossoms Fall

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Dear Mother Earth her children trees
Clad well in robes of white,
That they may rest in perfect peace
Through all the winter night.

When Spring, the morning, softly dawns,
She calls each sleeping one,
Who wakens, slowly sighs, and yawns,
Till day is well begun.

Soon April brings a shower bath,
And May fresh garments clean;
Bright trimmings gay each maiden hath,
The lads wear sober green.

The sister-winds their playmates are,
The gentle South and West,
And quickly come they from afar
To help them all get drest.

Each garment new is soon unrolled,
And smoothed well in its place,
Till not a crease or crumpled fold
Can anybody trace.

And then they hum a tuneful song
And play it in-and-out,
Until their brothers come along,
And join them with a shout.

The brothers North and East are rough,
And play with such wild glee,
They tear the pretty trimming stuff
Off every maiden tree.

So this is why the blossoms fall
And leaves oft times looked creased;
The boisterous brothers do it all,
The merry North and East.

© Alma Frances McCollum