Once more young nature walks the woods;
A skylark, too, breaks out in song;
the flower queen begins to stir:
“Thank you, dear bird; I’ve slept too long.”

The tender haze of morn’ engulfs
all but the edge of Fairy vale;
lark trills conduct the flower queen
as she creates a bloom filled trail.

And so the queen begins her day
by raising flowers with her wand;
azaleas now nod in the breeze,
white lilies float around the pond.

She charms the willows by the bank;
they droop their branches as they dream,
with tender buds and leaves on twigs
that dip into the quiet stream.

Down sloping hills where mushrooms grow,
by ruffled blooms with fragrant heads,
She fills the earth with faint perfume
and raises bluebells from their beds.

Wild foxgloves stretch to reach the sun,
with twisting spirals that comprise
Of multicolored little cones;
each one’s adored by the Queen’s eyes.

The blossoms nod as she walks past
her little sisters of the ground;
The fairy queen will bless them all,
with vernal buds they all are crowned.