The Voice of the Grass

Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere;
By the dusty roadside,
On the sunny hillside,
Close to the noisy brook
In every shady nook,
I come creeping, creeping everywhere.

Here I come creeping, smiling everywhere;
All around the open door,
Where sit the aged poor;
Here where the children play,
In the bright and merry May,
I come creeping, creeping everywhere.

(Sarah Roberts)