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
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
And wonderfull roses
Who just never stop growing.
With a sigh our sprout says,