Whenever a little child is born, All night a soft wind rocks the corn; One more buttercup wakes to the morn, Somewhere, somewhere. One more rosebud shy will unfold, One more grass-blade push through the mold, One more bird-song the air will hold, Somewhere, somewhere.
|
Whenever a little child is born, All night a soft wind rocks the corn; One more buttercup wakes to the morn, Somewhere, somewhere. One more rosebud shy will unfold, One more grass-blade push through the mold, One more bird-song the air will hold, Somewhere, somewhere. |
