At daybreak sauntering along a blind,
My eyes were drawn to something odd behind
the silver gates there, giving off a sheen,
a soaring tree with leaves of grayish-green.
I saw...but no! It can't be that...it can't!
That Mr. Andrew Jackson? Franklin...Grant?
Saw thousands of them swaying in the breeze.
Let's go, dad said, money don' grow on trees!
My eyes were drawn to something odd behind
the silver gates there, giving off a sheen,
a soaring tree with leaves of grayish-green.
I saw...but no! It can't be that...it can't!
That Mr. Andrew Jackson? Franklin...Grant?
Saw thousands of them swaying in the breeze.
Let's go, dad said, money don' grow on trees!
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