Fulfillment
Waking in May, the peach-tree thought:
“Idle and bare, and weaving naught!
Here have I slept the winter through—
I, with my Master’s work to do!”
Started the buds. The blossoms came,
Till all the branches were a-flame.
She rocked the birds and wove the green,
A busy tree as ever was seen.
Busy and blithe, she drank the dew,
She caught the sunbeams gliding through,
She drew her wealth from sky and soil,
And rustled gayly in her toil.
Now, see the peach-tree’s drooping head,
With all her fruit a-blushing red;
Knowing her Master’s work is done,
She meekly resteth in the sun.