All was green,
such a lovely scene.
The geese flew on their way;
there were butterflies in the hay.
Then the earth, the sun had parched,
and giant locusts, they had marched.
The grain waved in the field, 
but to the locusts would not yield.
Then the leaves were browned;
they fell down to the ground.
The geese flew again
and we lost our best laying hen.
Now there’s a chill in the air;
it’s winter—beware.
The trees are all bare,
and snow is on the stair.