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When I was a little boy, my mother said to me, "Watch the new born roses grow. It's a pretty sight to see.
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You, my son, shall blossom as the flower below. I will be your raindrops. You will be my rose.
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Listen while I tell you of the beauty in the sky. There's a home for angels on the clouds so high.
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I must be an angel. In heaven I shall stay. If you ever need me, I'll hear each word you say."
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Now her raindrops fall no more. Who will take her place? Will I live to blossom full or wither into space?
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Many times I wonder on the clouds above is it my dear mother who showers me with love?
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When I was a little boy.
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LITTLE BOY
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| Mike Settle |
