"Love, love come my way"
I heard a young woman cry to the day.
"Love, love come by morning light"
I heard an old woman whisper to the night.

I know the flowers
don't make my day but- I thank each one of them anyway-
for whatever part they play
I know the trees
don't plot my plan but- I thank them as I do my hands...
I know the rocks
aren't responsible for my peace of my mind but I love them far more
Than I ever could- Love the rigid strife
Others expectations and ideals of life-of love-
Least of all with Fame
The flowers the trees and the rocks know my name.