In the limbs of a tree ever growing,
Was born a boy to a mother much knowing.
She said in a quite prophetic state,
"My son, oh my son, you will be great!"

So she set to her back the child and crib,
He nestled deep in the cloth head to her rib.
Hand over hand mother set to climbing,
Her heart to the treetop was pining.

The tree ever growing reached toward the sky,
The upper limbs were reached by those who could fly.
But mother kept climbing she'd never give in,
Even when the height made eagles heads spin.

Nourished on milk and fruit of the tree,
The babe soon grew to a boy happy and free.
So big was the boy he could climb too,
He followed his mother as he grew and grew.

"My son, oh my son, you will be great!
You can sculpt love in a world of hate!"
So the boy climbed onto the upper limbs,
His strength pours forth even as the sun dims.

Boy with such power and talent pure,
Was much, much too much of himself sure.
As the tree grew the boy was distracted,
He stopped to pluck vines and see how they reacted.

Vine after vine between slabs of dead wood,
The boy built a harp and play it he could.
As the harp grew so did the tree,
Till the next branch was from his reach free.

"Mother, oh mother please hear my cry!
The tree has grow too far toward the sky!"
And down reached her hand to grasp his,
And up she pulled him with a whisk and a ****.

"My son, oh my son, you will be great!
You can sculpt love in a world of hate!"
So the boy climbed onto the upper limbs,
His strength pours forth even as the sun dims.

But the boy grew cocky and dallied again,
To slide along limbs in the dew and the rain.
He never lost balance or came close to fall,
But as he slid the tree again grew tall.

"Mother, oh mother please hear my cry!
The tree has grow too far toward the sky!"
And down reached her hand to grasp his,
And up she pulled him with a whisk and a ****.

"My son, oh my son, you will be great!
You can sculpt love in a world of hate!"
So the boy climbed onto the upper limbs,
His strength pours forth even as the sun dims.

But this time again the boy lingered halted,
He spied a girl in the leaves for her his heart vaulted.
For her he took bark and wrote words of heart,
And when she read them her heart gave a start.

For a long time there halted the boy,
Not a thing in the world could stop this ploy.
The tree ever growing lived up to its name,
And boy missed his chance when it finally came.

After a time the boy saw his great mistake,
And the pain in his mother's eyes made his heart ache.
Her hand reached down and his quested up,
But to grasp her fingers was not in the boy's luck.

"My son, oh my son, you could have been great!
You could have had love in a world of hate!"
And more crushing was this than all things other,
For this was the loss of hope from his mother.

But the boy in his heart held one last hope,
For a life with more than things with which to cope.
So he turned his back to the trunk of the tree,
And ran off the limb with an exclamation of glee.

With harp in one hand and girl in the other,
The boy flew up to meet with his mother.
From there they flew up into the sky,
To find the treetop so very, very high.