There're all kinds of roses But none are as handsome as the ones That you own hands have grown They bring as much hope Leave as much satisfaction As anything I've ever known But it ain't in their petals That I'm seeking the fortune It's in the weeds and the hedges and lawns Of the fortunate people Who can't stand in the garden And feel only time marching on With the world on a string To remind them of where they can go And what they ought to be Without a whole lot to say To the fella they pay To cut the grass growing underneath their feet A rose can't see its own beauty Or feel what it's meant to symbolize Doesn't stop and smell anything on its journey From the soil to the light Just wants the best for itself and its family And God help me so do I And so does everybody So I head out each morning With a smile and a wave For the man who looks up from their work 'Cause who knows in a while It could be my own child With the world on a string To remind her of where they can go And what she ought to be Without a whole lot to say To the fella she pays To cut the grass growing underneath her feet May green grow the grass underneath our children's feet