This doesn't happen very often anymore:
I wish I could buy that tree over there,
And from it, I'd hang up a swing,
And my mum, she could sit,
While I play my guitar,
And the tree, a sweet song she would sing.
And the song that she sings,
With her roots in the soil,
Is a comfort to all that can hear,
And my mum swings along, to the sweet, sweet song,
And whispers "I love you, my dear".
1 comment:
Sweet.
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