Classic Poem

Take it up tenderly,
Plant it with care;
It's but a little tree,
Nothing to spare.
Scant are the limbs on't,
Fibers but few,
Take care, or it won't
Take care of you.

Mangle the bark of it,
Man without soul;
Pestle the roots of it
Into a hole.
Oh, for the shame of it,
Better be dead;
Fruit to the name of it,
Nary a red!

Take it up tenderly,
Man with a soul;
Oh! but a little tree
Likes a big hole.
Fair is the sight of it,
Lordly and bold;
Fruit on the limbs of it
Crimson and gold!

Who'd be a market-man
Selling his fruit,
Gum in his eye and
A worm at his root?
Down with the raw-bone,
Shriveled and dry!
Juice for my jaw-bone!
Joy for my eye!

Basket on basketful,
Peach upon peach;
Juno-like, beautiful,
Rosy and rich.
Choose for the good of you
Orchardists, each;
Dollar a load, of you,
Dollar a peach.