there sat a little girl
sitting by her window
looking at the world
she couldn't see a lot
for the window was too small
she loved to sit by her window
all through the day
she'd stay there forever
if she could only have her way.
She watched the busy people
walking down the street
oh, how wonderful it must be,
she often thought discreet
she saw the birds sing
their song in the morning light
and watched for them to come home,
as day fell into night.
Flowers , flowers, everywhere
what a pretty sight to see,
if I were a flower
I wonder which one, I'd be.
Sometimes when it rained
the little girl would cry,
because she was afraid,
afraid that she might die
she'd dream at night
of playing in her yard,
touching all the flowers
watching all the cars,
yet, she knew deep inside
that would never be,
because she had an illness
she could never quite be free.
Though many things
made her sad,
if she thought too long
her sadness would make her mad,
the world was such a pretty place
yet no one seems to care,
no one taking the time
to look up at her,
her and her tearful stare.
The flowers all in bloom
yet no one seems to see,
all the different colors
there are in each and every tree,
each blade of grass is different
no two are the same,
but no one stops to notice
it's really quite a shame.
The window is empty
only a half pulled shade,
where is the little girl
where is she today,
the flowers are all open
and the grass is standing still,
wondering why their friend
isn't at the window sill.
Days go by or maybe months
yet nothing seems to change,
the paint hat happened long ago
is really quite the same,
walking by the closed door
her hands begin to shake,
the thought of her little girl
is more than she can take,
she slowly opens the door
and walks inside the room,
there's a beautiful sunbeam
taking away the gloom.
She walks over to the window
and quietly sits down,
a single tear drops as she
looks below at the ground,
though all the flowers
are in bloom, one catches her eye,
it's the tallest one of all
and somehow seems more alive.
All the others point,
and the grass falls in behind,
as though they're playing
follow the leader or
another children's rhyme.
She misses her daughter greatly
but she can somehow see,
how her daughter
had somehow let go...
only to be free.
Flowers, flowers, everywhere
what a pretty sight to see...
if I were a flower,
I wonder which one I'd be.