CHERRIES.
Reading edition
BY EMILY HUNTINGTON MILLER.
Who can tell how cherries grow, From the blossoms' fragrant snow; From the balls of green that hide Under glossy leaves, spread wide, Till they glisten, every one, Red as rubies in the sun; Swelling, warming, till they shine, Filled with summer's rosy wine? Five little babes in a basket, Up on a swinging bough: "Open your mouths," said the mother, "Here is a feast for you now." Mother and babies think it prime That cherries ripen in robin-time. Five curly heads at a window, Watching the merry crew: "Don't you wish we were birds in a nest, So we could have some too? Wings are better than legs to climb, And robins are thickest in cherry-time."