MAYTIME Sing a song of bluebells, dreaming in the shade, A thousand little amethysts up and down the glade, Shimmering

and glimmering, ruffled in the breeze. Sing a song of bluebells, merry as you please! Sing a song of hawthorn, country maiden's crown, Lying pale as moonlight, up the hedge and down, Scenting all the hillside and meadow once again. Sing a song of hawthorn, shining in the lane! Sing a song of little things, butterflies and bees, Speckled eggs, and baby birds hidden in the trees, Pansies in the garden, cowslips on the hill. Sing a song of little things, sing it with a will! Sing a song of Maytime, when all the hills are blue, And all the world is laughing and calling out to you; Dance among the buttercups, frolic with the breeze. Sing a song of Maytime, as merry as you please! The Enid Blyton Poetry Book