A daffodil is born,
and rises in the spring.
It opens out it's beauty, to hear the crickets sing.
But as quick as it does grow, it decays away too soon.
Before the sun or sunshine, has reached its golden noon.
Before the summer sunshine, has reached its golden noon.
A stream it does rise, in the mountains so tall.
It swells into a river, as gently as it does fall.
It meanders through valley, through city and through town.
And to the boundless ocean, this river it is bound.
And to the boundless ocean, this river it is bound.

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