“What shall we plant for our Summer, my boy,—
Seeds of enchantment and seedlings of joy?
Brave little cuttings of laughter and light?
Then shall our Summer be flowery and bright.”
“Nay!— You are wrong in your planting,” said he,
“Have we not grass and the weeds and a tree?
Why should we water and weary away
For sake of a flower that lives but a day!”
So she made gardens which he would not dig,
Tended her apricot, apple and fig.
Then, when one morning he chanced to appear,
Sadly he noticed — “No trespassing here.”