The Gardener

There're all kinds of roses

But none are as handsome as the ones

That your own hands have grown

They bring as much hope

Leave as much satisfaction

As anything I've ever known

But it ain't in there petals

That I'm seekin' a fortune

It's in the weeds, and the hedges, and the lawns

Of the fortunate people

Who can stand in the gardens

And feel only time marching on

With the world on a string

To remind them of where they can go

And what they oughta be

Without a whole lot to say

To the fella they pay

To cut the grass growin' underneath their feet

The rose can't see it's own beauty

To feel what it's meant to symbolize

Doesn't stop and smell anything on its journey

From the soil to the light

Just wants the best for itself and its family

And God help me, so do I

So does everybody

So I head out each mornin'

With a smile and a wave

For whom a man looks up from the work

'Cause who knows? In a while

He could be my own child

With the world on a string

To remind her of where she can go

And what she oughta be

Without a whole lot to say

To the fella she pays

To cut the grass growin' underneath her feet

May green grow the grass underneath our children's feet