Tall old oak trees,
Swaying-dancing in the sweetly blowing breeze,
Their branches close to my Mamma's bedroom window;
The breezes caress the dancing flowers in the meadow.

Grandma's dear hands once kneeding bread,
And Grandfather's strong hands patting my Mamma on the head,
Breezes blowing the yellow muslin curtains at the window pane;
And sweet lilacs, and many other flowers are bordering the lane.

The perfume of flowers drifting from the window into that pretty house,
Where cats would always catch a darting mouse,
And wisteria blooms twisting their mighty branches around the tall trees;
Which sway back and forth in the breeze.

*~Marian~