The Tree

by Mary Hurton

The tree stood on a breezy hill,

Full of grass and daffodils still.

Spring was over. Hear the rain!

See the clouds, all in a a train.

Children come, they sit and play,

In the grass, they laugh all day.

Underneath the spouting willow

They fall asleep, the tree, a pillow.

When they leave the tree to go,

The tree awaits the next day slow.

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