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![]() Talking in Their Sleep by Edith M. Thomas "You think I am dead," The apple tree said, "Because I have never a leaf to show- Because I stoop, And my branches droop, And the dull gray mosses over me grow! But I'm still alive in trunk and shoot; The buds of next May I fold away- But I pity the withered grass at my root." "You think I am dead," The quick grass said, "Because I have parted with stem and blade! But under the ground, I am safe and sound With the snow's thick blanket over me laid. I'm all alive, and ready to shoot, Should the spring of the year Come dancing here- But I pity the flower without branch or root." "You think I am dead," A soft voice said, "Because not a branch or root I own. I never have died, but close I hide In a plumy seed that the wind has sown. Patient I wait through the long winter hours; You will see me again- I shall laugh at you then, Out of the eyes of a hundred flowers. < Previous - Next > |
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