Page:The Wonderful Fairies of the Sun.djvu/26

Then, climbing high upon the pile,
All hands float downward mile by mile.
As, steadily, swiftly down they go,
The clouds, which once were white as snow,
Get blackened from the many feet;
And, when a counter wind they meet,
The shifting, tumbling piles of bags
Soon tear the clouds in shreds and rags;
For rain-clouds are not often white,
And do not fly at any height.
When near the Earth these clouds arrive,
Half of the drops with spring and dive
Jump off; and dropping down through space
They start out on a lively race.
Each hurrying down for all he’s worth,
To be the first to reach the Earth.
Some land in trees, roll up their sleeves,
Wash off the bark, repaint the leaves,
And brighten up the fruit or buds
By a generous dose of magic suds.
Then others light upon the ground
And straightway clean whate’er is found.
Some wash the flowers in a tub.
Some choose the roofs to clean and scrub;
And when they’ve lots of roofs to do

They bring their children with them too,