Rhyme that goes like this: down in the meadow where the tall grass sways-ends like "let the bees be."

Question

My aunt and uncle growing up in the 1960's were told of this rhyme and neither one can remember the words. It was a poem of wisdom.

Answer 1

There must be hundreds of versions of this verse. The one I read as a second grader begins

Over in the meadown
In the sand in the sun
Lived an old mother frog
And her little frog one.
"Hop," said the mother.
"I hop," said the one.
"I hop, hop, hop
In the sand in the sun."

It continued with little fish two, birds three, ducks four, and bees five:

Over in the meadow
In a little bee hive
Lived an old mother bee
And her little bees five. . . .

Here are just a few others:

http://www.enchantedlearning.com/rhymes/Greengrass.shtml

http://www.kididdles.com/mouseum/o015.html

http://www.ongoing-tales.com/SERIALS/oldtime/POETRY/meadow.html

Of the illustrated book versions, my two favorites are the following, both of which were illustrated by Caldecott-winning illustrators (though not for these books).

Over in the Meadow by John Langstaff, illustrated by Feodor Rojankovsky

Over in the Meadow by Ezra Jack Keats

I hope you find exactly the one that you remember.

Answer 2

This might be it!

The Artist

By
Bonnie M. Wells


Down in the meadow where the wild grass grows,

By the bubbling brook....that gently flows

Grow the tall, tall trees of various kind...

Oak, Hickory, Walnut and the beautiful pine.

Everything sparkles with crystal dew,

As golden rays of sun come filtering through.

At first glance, no movement can be found

But, be very quiet .... just hang around.

Leaves whisper as a breeze descends on the land,

And like a gift of life from an artist's hand,

A touch of brown is the first to appear.

With dots of white.....it's a beautiful deer.

Slivers of red, orange and blue ... a swipe of yellow,

It's the birds, with a song so mellow.

A stroke of gray is the next to be found...

Why it's a rabbit... hopping around.

Now what's this, that I see?

The golden stripes of the honey bee.

A groundhog emerges without a sound,

From his castle...deep in the ground.

Hickory nuts fall with a soft clatter,

And out pops a squirrel, with a "who's there?" chatter.

The brook ripples with a flash of green,

As a bull frog leaps into the stream.

I slowly rise ... and with a misty eye,

To each I say ... a silent good-bye.

I've no place in this picture,

I thought .... feelings all a mixture.

I'd come out early this morning.

So I could be the first on the scene.

Ready and waiting with my gun,

To take a life ... just for fun.

Of food ... there was no need.

In the name of sport... was my greed.

Homeward bound ... with head bowed.

A glance at my gun ... "never again," I vowed.

If ever again I visited this land,

It would be with brush and canvas in hand.