New born green on the trees,
painting the forest bright under yellow splendor.
Lost children of long gone spring,
long before the seasons of wither and die,
they rustle on in the air, the new born leaves.

Unspoken happiness echoed in the song of the birds,
all hopes of a tomorrow burn bright like evening hues.
High above the mix and match of brown earth and dusty paths,
they shade the forests in blankets of green,
the new born leaves on the solemn trees.