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Arbor Day

by Annette Wynne

On Arbor Day
We think of birds and greening trees,
Of meadowlands and humming bees,
Of orchards far from crowded town,
Of heights where streams go tumbling down,
Wee mountain rills that sing and play—
On Arbor Day.

Of how the tree tops coax the rain
From flying clouds till hill and plain
Are clean and fresh from sea to sea;
We plant a seed; a tiny tree
Wakes up and throws aside the clod,
And stretches for the climb toward God—
We sing a song for the joy of May—
On Arbor Day.

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