WHAT I LOVE
I love the little birds
That flit among the flowers,
That sing their songs of praise
Through all the summer hours.
That flit among the flowers,
That sing their songs of praise
Through all the summer hours.
I love the little lamb
That in the meadow plays,
I love to see it run around
And watch its antic ways.
That in the meadow plays,
I love to see it run around
And watch its antic ways.
I love the murmuring brook
That ripples on its course,
I love to think how it was formed
And wonder at its source.
That ripples on its course,
I love to think how it was formed
And wonder at its source.
I love the little violet
That hangs its drooping head,
And wonder why it does not rise
Above its humble bed.
That hangs its drooping head,
And wonder why it does not rise
Above its humble bed.
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