92 



meadow 



DECEMBER 



DAISIES 



dreaming picked 

 dropped 



At evening, when I go 



to bed, 

 I see the stars shine 



overhead. 

 They are the little 



daisies white 

 That dot the meadows 



of the night. 



And often, while I'm dream- 

 ing so, 



Across the sky the moon 

 will go. 



She is a lady, sweet and fair, 



Who- comes to gather dai- 

 sies there. 



For when, in the morning, I arise, 

 There's not a star left in the skies. 

 She's picked them all and dropped 



them down 

 Into the meadows of the town. 



FRANK DEMPSTER "SHERMAN. 



