 | Where Lilies Live and Waters Wind Away |  |
AN UNCONSCIOUS PHILOSOPHER.
There's an old farm house, with a field below,
And a donkey always stands there, so.
And a donkey always stands there, so.
Sometimes he is eating grass, or drinking;
But oftenest he is standing thinking.
But oftenest he is standing thinking.
And I've often wanted to find out
What sort of things he thinks about.
What sort of things he thinks about.
Does he think of the river always flowing,
Where it comes from, and where it is going?
Where it comes from, and where it is going?
Does he think of the people along the road,
What is their business, where their abode?
What is their business, where their abode?
He must have such lots to think about,
I only wish I could find it out!
I only wish I could find it out!
For I'm sure, he looks so wise when I pass,
That, though he's a donkey, he isn't an ass.
That, though he's a donkey, he isn't an ass.
| Where Lilies Live and Waters Wind Away | |