The Call Poem by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
The Call
Rating: ★2.8
Come calf now to mother,
Come lamb that I choose,
Come cats, one and t' other,
With snowy-white shoes,
Come gosling all yellow,
Come forth with your fellow,
Come chickens so small,
Scarce walking at all,
Come doves, that are mine now,
With feathers so fine now!
The grass is bedewed,
The sunlight renewed,
It's early, early, summer's advancing
But autumn soon comes a-dancing!
Thursday, January 1, 2004
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4/23/2024 1:26:46 AM # 1.0.0.1119
