May Is Here

I climbed and I climbed to the top of the tree;
High up in the branches I stood.
Below in the field was a man with his plough,
And I called him as loud as I could.

He stopped, and he looked at the hedges and lane,
And no one at all could he see,
For he never once thought, as he wondered and stared
I was up in the top of the tree.

I swung and I swayed with the tree in the wind;
I was not afraid I would fall;
The maple seeds spread out their little green wings,
And nobody saw me at all.

K. Pyle