I had a pretty picture by the win-dow.
I had a pretty sparkle in my hand.
And now it's gone wherever does the wind blow,
The watch-tow'r of my senses was unmanned.
I had a vision, for my little seed-ling.
How big are trees that come from mustard seeds.
But while my plan was just a little weed-ling,
It choked amongst the water and the weeds.
I tried to hold my pile of sand too tightly,
I should have let it rest upon my palm,
And lose a little, when the breeze comes lightly,
I lost it all, I did less good than harm.
So now I sit and look on through my win-dow
And try to find my sparkle in the sky.
I'll watch the stars, and watch where does the wind go,
'Til once again, that sparkle's in my eye.









