Countryside

Hills in green glitter,
Without a bit of splinter,
Flowers all soon bloom,
The moon brings no gloom.

Streams flow swiftly downhill,
As farmers get soil to till,
Some women churn cheese,
And children get mice to tease.

The oak tree bring squirrels,
The cherry blossom never brings quarrels,
Fat cows down the meadow,
The bakery stays all but middle.

Church bells chime,
Children keep time,
Who would miss the sweets,
That the nun gives at streets?