Classic Poem

The tree's early leaf buds were bursting their brown:
“Shall I take them away?” said the frost, sweeping down.
“No, dear; leave them alone
Till blossoms here have grown,”
Prayed the tree, while it trembled from rootlet to crown.

The tree bore its blossoms, and all the birds sung:
“Shall I take them away?” said the wind, as it swung.
“No, dear; leave them alone
Till berries here have grown,”
Said the tree, while its leaflets quivering hung.

The tree bore its fruit in the midsummer glow:
Said the girl, “May I gather thy berries or no?”
“Yes, dear, all thou canst see;
Take them; all are for thee,”
Said the tree, while it bent its laden boughs low.