Classic Poem

Sonnet

The maidens light foot seems to pity the flowers
She bruises with treading on in their blooming hours
In her hurrying haste she oft goes to tie
A broken cowslip stalk that the flower should not die
With a blade of the grass that her feet must crush
And for sake of the linets nest loves the green bush
And talks to the leaves smiling green in her eye
To hide the nest well till the young ones can fly
And when speed is most urgent she'll deem it not vain
To turn back and lift up the daisey again
Though her mother was ill and the docter was sought
Sick flowers must be minded to do as she ought
The nightingales her's and all birds on the wing
So the fond maiden sings to herself in the spring