Today is Wednesday.
I am going to read a new book, Frederick.
There was a stone wall on the meadow. In that wall, not far from the barn and the granary, a chatty family of field mice had their home. As the winter was coming, they all had to collect food day and night, except a mouse whose name was Frederick. They asked him why he didn't work. He said he did work. He gathered sunrays for the dark winter. He gathered colors for the gray winter. He gathered words for the silent winter. Then winter days came. At the beginning, they had many food to eat. But as time went by, their food became less and less every day. They remembered Frederick's gathering and asked him to show them. Frederick climbed onto a big stone. He asked them to close their eyes and feel the warm sunrays and the plants' colors. They asked, "What about the words?"
Frederick cleared his throat waited a moment, and then, as if from a stage, he said:
"Who scatters snowflakes? Who melts the ice?
? ? ? ? Who spoils the weather? Who makes it nice?
? ? ? ? Who grows the four-leaf clovers in June?
? ? ? ? Who dims the daylight? Who lights the moon?
? ? ? ? Four little field mice who live in the sky.
? ? ? ? Four little field mice… like you and I.
? ? ? ? One is the Springmouse who turns on the showers,
? ? ? ? Then comes the Summer who paints in the flowers.
? ? ? ? The Fallmouse is next with walnuts and wheat.
? ? ? ? And Winter is last… with little cold feet.
? ? ? ? Aren’t we lucky the seasons are four?
? ? ? ? Think of a year with one less… or one more!"
When Frederick had finished, they all applauded. "Frederick,” they said, “you are a poet!”
? ? ? ? Frederick blushed, took a bow, and said shyly, “I know it.”
