I'm going to sing you a new kind of song
And it's one that is neither too short nor too long
To think on the questions that my little girl
Asked as she opened up her little world
"Daddy, who made the birds and the bees?
Is it true that the wind is in love with the trees?
What kind of glue stuck the stars to the sky?
And who lit the tail on the little butterfly?"
"Will I be pretty or will I be wise
With Mom's kind of hair and your kind of eyes?
What will I be and what will I know?
Where did I come from, and where will I go?"
"Daddy, who taught the cricket to sing?
And who plants the dandelion gardens in spring?
How do you cheer up a cloud when it cries?
And if seagulls can swim, how come fishes can't fly?
Where do the snowmen go early each year?
They're never around when the robins get here.
I ask them, but they never open their mouths
When robins come north, do the snowmen go south?"
Her questions I value more highly than pearls,
And when she's no longer her dad's little girl
Well I'll fondly recall with a tear in my eye
Her "how come's", her "who's", "what's", "where's", "when" and "why's"
Yes I'll relive the walks that we took in the wild
And I'll stop for a moment to cry like a child
When I think on the days when she thought butterflies
Were just little flowers that fluttered on by