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| National Museum |
When you turn eight,
Why, names sprout from
Under the sleeves
Of school-worn days.
Yellow's the same,
Yet golden, warm,
Popsicle rush,
On picnic breaks.
New songs sew fresh tales;
Old tunes dream tired tricks.
When November
Cools and when lights
Prattle up quick
Yule light dances
You'll know that nine
Will bring tidings
And glee, and turn
Reds to rubies.
Old songs sew tired tales;
New tunes dream fresh tricks.
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