Mud pies
Under the apple tree is spread out and thick
Happy with only a frying pan and a stick,
On the soft grass in the shade that lies,
Our little Fanny makes mud pies.
On her brown apron and her shiny drooping head,
showers of pink and white flowers fall;
linked to a branch that appears to be intended for that,
She dances and lifts her little straw hat.
Dash, full of joy on a bright summer day,
He excitedly chases Robins away,
barks at squirrels, or snaps at flies,
All the while, Fanny is making pancakes.
The sunshine and the soft summer breeze slip by,
while she is busy, be busy with her;
Glowing rosy cheeks, and sparkly sparkling eyes
He brought them to Fanny, while making mud pies.
dolls and toys are put away,
Don’t go outside until the next rainy day;
Under the blue of that beautiful summer sky,
Nothing is as fun as making mud pies.
Move boldly, with a serious look,
making her believe she is a real pastry chef;
Scattered brown spots on the forehead and eyes
Show our Fanny making mud pies.
But all dirt has innocent play
Clean soapy water will wash off soon;
Much pleasure in a nicer appearance
May leave traces darker than fanny mud pancakes.