I wrote this after seeing my young niece playing with flowers in the yard. The constant crisis of “time” that we all live through inspired this tale of different generations just blowing around with the wind. 

(verse)

I wonder what she thinks about

Picking orchids pink and gold 

Watching petals float around

Swirling with the wind that blows

(Pre-Chorus) 

They’re like dreams to me

Bright in the beginning 

But fade as they glide away 

Disappear without an ending 

They’re just gone 

(Chorus)

Her eyes are much better than mine 

And she don’t know ’bout wasted time

(verse)

I wonder sometimes if she knows 

How the flowers need the sun 

They only come back ’round in spring

I’m thinkin’ she might be too young

(Pre-Chorus) 

She’s like a dream to me

Maybe way back in my youth

I lived life so free and light

Before I thought about the truth

Inside a lie 

(Chorus)

Her mind is much clearer than mine

And she don’t know ’bout wasted time 

(verse)

I wonder how her clear skin

Seems to bounce off of the sun

And looking at this leather

All the years have been soaked up

(Pre-Chorus)

It’s like a dream to me

The wastefulness of youth

The hands there that won’t turn back

And the old ones that I use 

Much weaker now

(Chorus) 

Her future’s much brighter than mine

And she know know ’bout wasted time