Some flowers grow where they will grow,
Scattered by winds or the finger of God
To rest like smiles across a field
Of waving grass and tender shoots.
Brief days. Bright sun. No toil or care.
A garden of kisses lingering there.

While beautiful gardens set in a row
Of flowers, and fountains that trickle and flow.
Prepared by a sculptor who chisels in stone,
The hand of a gardener working alone.
Lush colors, sharp contrasts arranged like a vow
Of effort and duty and value and power.

The spark of a smile, the comfort of truth.
The wisdom of ages, the beauty of youth.
What nature has given, and man has reformed –
The glory of birth and the passion reborn.
The songs of our heart, and the sweat of our brow.
To build for the future and live in the now.