Rolling hills, sky's high, I wonder where you passed by, will I ever make it back up to fly, I wonder when and why. 

I am paper once part of a tree, people fold and write on me, sometimes they put holes in my sides, when that happened I almost died, that pencil that keeps turning me gray, I wonder if I will make it longer today.

Spring, I wonder what beauties' it will bring, will it be white with snow, the sun with a bright yellow glow, I wonder now what colors will the blossoms will be, will there be any, what will spring bring?