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Childhood is a meadow,
for angels without wings . . .
Childhood is a meadow,
of toys an' rose-covered swings . . .
With singing brooks
for laughing hearts at play
and a fence made of rainbows
to keep every care away . . .
Childhood is a meadow,
and as the years depart,
it remains evergreen
and can only be seen
by those who are young in heart . . .
Childhood is a meadow,
and as the years depart,
it remains evergreen
and can only be seen
by those who are young in heart . . .
