Green.
     These days will be no more than memories.
               Like the green sprout from last spring’s blossoming. We        tug and pull the vines of time,
               one last chance, before summertime.

Green.
     Oh the days, we so desperately count
               until the time we can finally get out. But when will we see      the lush fields again,
               of our fruitful youth, our green roots maintain.

Green.
     The day is coming near, until the green subsides. Soon we will                  be gone, and be our own guides.
     Gone but not forgotten, our green days are coming to an end,                    but we will be back, after winter or fall, my green friend.
                                                                                        Green.
                                                    It is the beginning and the end.
                                                             The vines cling on to us,                                                 the sun that shines down upon us,                                                 the wind that whispers out to us.                                                               We are hope, we are                                                         Green.