When the clouds shake their hyssops, and the rain
Like holy water falls upon the plain,
Tis sweet to gaze upon the springing grain
And see your harvest born.
And sweet the little breeze of melody
The blackbord puffs upon the budding tree,
While the wild poppy lights upon the lea
And blazes mid the corn.
Submitted By: rahul
In Category: April Fool
Added On: Monday, March 31, 2008