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The Poor Trees Stand and Shiver So

by Annette Wynne

The poor trees stand and shiver so,
Like ragged beggars in a row,
Without a cloak in frost and snow.

I think it's strange about the trees—
In summer when there's little breeze
They all dress up rich as you please.

No beggars then, but fine and grand
Like Princes of a mighty land
Across the world in rows they stand.

But now in cold they shiver so
Like ragged beggars in a row—
Without a cloak in wind and snow.

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