Water them gently and tuck in the children Sing to them sweetly, sprinkle their food over their heads Nurturing love, and guiding hands, Whisper the magic words, 'I bid thee, I bid thee, Grow strong and swiftly,' Cozy in their beds, kept warm and safe, This home filled with light and all of the growing green things

Not a tree, yet often mistaken, due to my sudden spurts. Six of seven continents host me, Antarctica the lone exception. Durable, yet flexible, unlike hemp, I am widely legal, but cut on me, oil me, or beware.

As giant stalks I rise up high, green and segmented, to the sky. I may grow with rapid speed, and monochrome giants I can feed.

The whole idea is for me to stay low. It’s been said, I’m carried by the wind, only some people will know.

In the air it gently weaves, like a whisper through the leaves. A sweet tale without a tongue, where notes and beats feel like home.