bathing the heavenly trees;
Ceasing to see that it's the time of year
You may do as you please.
Don't sit still as if all this joy
We're just products of wishful thought,
For all that joy restrained all the year
To the surface, must be brought.
I will neither inquire as to the cause of sorrow,
Nor will I bring it out,
But, I will tell you not to be so still,
That it's time to scream and shout.
And if you don't acknowledge then I'll leave it be,
For it will come to you some other way,
That nothing should make you sulk and sigh
And waste a bright summer's day.
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