The Mulberry Tree

Hello friends!

Apologies for posting this a bit later in the day than usual; I’ve had quite a busy week, complete with preparations for a party we’re hosting, a talent show at a friend’s house, and finishing up the school year — I’m so excited for summer, which is coming up so quickly!

I’ve also, of course, been working on this number of St Nicholas Magazine. We now have just over two weeks till the deadline, which is June 15th, so if you’d like to submit, please do so now! We accept stories, poems, artwork, and book reviews from children of all ages, and you can send your submissions (or any questions!) straight to my email, stnicholasmag@gmail.com! And if you need some ideas, the optional prompts for this number are as follows:

Write a story with the title 'A Test of Friendship'
Write a poem with the title 'Over the Hills'
Draw a picture with the title 'Going Away'
Take a photo with the title 'My Most Artistic Photograph'

Today I’m including a lovely little poem called The Mulberry Tree by Bruce Carr Sterret, with a lovely meter and some charming rhymes. I hope you like it as much as I do! Remember, you can print the pdf out, it’s nice and easy to read!

Love,

Fiona

FIND A PDF COPY HERE

THE MULBERRY TREE
By BRUCE CARR STERRETT

Originally published in the May 1923 St Nicholas Magazine

The birds flash into the mulberry tree,

The mulberry tree

In May,

With costumes somber and costumes gay.

There is Quaker maiden and blue blue-jay;

The cardinal comes with his bold, sweet airs,

The woodpecker drops his carpenter cares,

A golden oriole sways in his seat,

And the mockingbird’s trim in a gray suit neat

In the mulberry tree

In May.

Oh, the feast is spread in the mulberry tree,

The mulberry tree

In May!

The blessing is said in a thrilling song,

The toast is given, and talk is long,

For there’s open house here as the hours go by,

The service is free and the seats are high.

The table is laden with clusters of food,

Enough for the mother and all her brood,

In the mulberry tree

In May.

No quarrel I hear in the mulberry tree,

The mulberry tree,

In May;

But some lilt that’s chanted in music rare

Of bounty unstinted, of largess fair,

Where the table is spread for young and old;

Where timid are welcome as well as bold.

And then at the close of a warm, bright day,

When a magical paean comes show’ring my way,

I wish that man’s world were a mulberry tree,

A mulberry tree,

In May!