Oh, the road that leads to town
On a summer morning!
Yellow sunshine on the fields,
Mist the hills adorning;
Leaves soft blowing in the breeze
Fresh from summer showers;
Roadside, as we drive along,
Crowded thick with flowers.
Aunt Matilda flaps the reins;
“Raisins, flour, and butter;
We must not forget the yeast”;
(How the corn leaves flutter;)
“We must get a skein of yarn
And some gingham patches”;
(How the river, where it turns,
Sky’s own color matches!)
“Here we are at Peter’s Mill;
Yes, they’re busy grinding”;
Through Green Meadow, just beyond,
Bubble Brook is winding;
Satin crows perch on the trees;
Auntie counts her money;
While she’s gone I sing my joy;—
Bees are making honey!