Apple blossoms swaying
In the wonder month of May;
Mating birds are warbling songs of love.
Tiny sunbeams spraying
All along the wooded way,
Little showers of sunshine from above.
Frisky breezes blowing
Spring’s own lullaby to me;
Happy ’cause the days are bright and fair.
Tiny blossoms snowing
From a shedding apple tree,
Little scented snow-drops in the air.
Breezes now are tripping,
Tripping o’er the blades of grass;
Gliding thru the treetops in a rhyme;
Shallow streams are slipping,
Slipping o’er each pebbled pass:
Everything is singing “Blossom-time.”
– Circa 1934