Can’t Be Beat

With lips so red and soft and bright
She climbed the tree with happy might.
A cherry there hung sweet and fair
Awaiting for her rare delight.

With beak so sharp and bright and black
A crow swung low in swift attack.
She shook a branch, the cherry danced,
And scared the crow to fly on back!

With fingers red and bright and sweet
She leaped to earth upon her feet.
The crow cawed loud, she stood good proud
And sang a song that can’t be beat.

“I won my way,
I’m happy, gay,
My cherry day in hand.

Each where I go
I’ll beat the crow
Till all grown up I stand!”

I was but six, or little more,
And now am I old eighty-four,
Yet still I climb, at least in mind,
And shake crow death from off my door!

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