Sport in the Meadows

Maytime is to the meadows coming in, And cowslip peeps have gotten eer so big, And water blobs and all their golden kin Crowd round the shallows by the striding brig. Daisies and buttercups and ladysmocks Are all abouten shining here and there, Nodding about their gold and yellow locks Like morts of folken flocking at a fair. The sheep and cows are crowding for a share And snatch the blossoms in such eager haste That basket-bearing children running there Do think within their hearts they'll get them all And hoot and drive them from their graceless waste As though there wa'n't a cowslip peep to spare.…