The Tree
(Music: Gary William Friedman / Lyrics: Will Holt)
This man I know
Has an apple tree he’s hoping will grow
Day after day he waits, and what does he see
Not one apple on the tree.
This man I know waits all winter
And the tree will not grow
‘til late in spring with still no fruit to be found
he goes out to chop it down.
Lo and behold
Like a miracle swept in from the sea
Lo and behold there’s a fog so thick
The man can’t see to cut the tree.
Next morning he
All excited he comes running to me
Right there for all to see
Way up on a bough
Small and weak but hanging on somehow
Is a baby apple now.
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