and butterfly wings in blooms,
Bells of bittersweet
to chime in peppered tunes.
Larkspurish buttercups, her loom,
She weaves now round and bending...all whirlybird and cheerful there
her merry morning mending.
And all of this in stable twine
around the garden heart of mine.
And jolly yellow orange bright
in sun or rain or bosky night.
Warming in the first blush
Resting neath the stars hush
Whirlybird, the tender
Whirlybird the mender...
Your garden patch to render-
awaits dear.
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