D0 the little brown twigs complain

That they haven't a leaf to wear? 

Or the grass, when the wind and rain 

Pulls at her matted hair?

Do the little brooks struggle and moan 

When the ice has frozen their feet?

Or the moss turn gray as a stone 

Because of the cold and sleet?

Do the buds that the leaves left bare 

To strive with their wintery fate,

In a moment of deep despair, 

Destroy what they cannot create?

Oh, nature is teaching us there 

To patiently wait, and wait.