The wind will blow,
And a seed will fall,
And its head will peek,
From the ground below.

And the sun will shine,
With his rays so bright,
And the sprout will grow,
In the friendly light.

And the days will pass,
And the nights grow cold,
But the young tree stands,
Through the icy snow.

For the rain may fall,
And the sun not show,
But the tree will wait,
For its time to grow.

And the birds will nest,
And the squirrels will climb,
And they always return,
Time after time.

For when sky is gray,
And cold rain falls,
Through weather harsh,
The tree stands tall.

But the wind will blow,
And the tree will fall,
With a thunderous crash,
And a mournful call.