Flowing like a river deep in the chilly woods,
Runs the heart of a young boy, young in spirit.
One with the land of green and brown,
One with the fruits lying on the ground.
One with the ants running up a tree,
One with the plants sprouting like fleas,
One with the brightness of the moon,
One with the fullness blasting its way through.
One with the meadow, blowing like the sea,
One with the hills, rolling without a plea.
Altogether through and through,
We find the weather,
That makes us brand new.
Jan 30, 2013
Jan 30, 2013 at 12:45 PM UTC
Flowing like a river deep in the chilly woods,
Runs the heart of a young boy, young in spirit.
One with the land of green and brown,
One with the fruits lying on the ground.
One with the ants running up a tree,
One with the plants sprouting like fleas,
One with the brightness of the moon,
One with the fullness blasting its way through.
One with the meadow, blowing like the sea,
One with the hills, rolling without a plea.
Altogether through and through,
We find the weather,
That makes us brand new.
