The Little Breezes

A little breeze is like a rhyme,
Or sweet petals falling soft;
Without a care to tide or time
They fly, and carry birds aloft.
Business calls them in the fall;
When pearly snowflakes grounded lie;
They answer springtime’s cheerful call;
Oér summer fields they sing and sigh.
When leaves and grass are laid with flakes
And south the whistling birds have flown,
Then to the West the breezes make,
To the place they call their home.
Though white’s the ground that winter’s made,
The little breezes will not fade. . .


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