A green sprout pushes towards the bright morning sun,

Yawning and rubbing the sleep from is eyes.

He calls out a cheery hello

As all the little bluebirds greet the day.

He stretches and stretches as the morning goes on,

And a full head of hair is first


Then yellow

Then white

Before the clever northwind blows

And all of his locks are lost from sight.

He is withering now, so old and frail

But he smiles insdie because he knows

He is going to a better place

With tulips

And lilacs

And wonderfull roses

Who just never stop growing.

With a sigh our sprout says,



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