The Loop Road Flower Wagon

A little white house on a safe road, where childhood memories were sown and flowed. Upstairs, a small room for three: My sister, brother, and me.
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Oh, that trusted road, a safe, familiar span, guiding my small feet as the journey began. Back to the little white home, with a floral treasure won, a simple errand beneath the summer sun.
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Just down the road, where the Loop connected, a large, white plastic greenhouse stood, protected. Inside, a riot of blooms for sale, a floral haven, beyond the pale.
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Oh, that trusted road, a safe, familiar span, guiding my small feet as the journey began. Back to the little white home, with a floral treasure won, a simple errand beneath the summer sun.
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With our white and orange plastic wagon, black wheels turning slow, dad would send me, sometimes alone, to watch the flowers grow. The scent of soil and petals on the breeze, those easy days among the fields and trees.
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A little white house on a safe road,
Where childhood memories were sown and flowed. I can still hear the sound, of those black wheels turning round.
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Oh, that trusted road, a safe, familiar span,
Guiding my small feet as the journey began. Back to the little white home, with a floral treasure won, a simple errand beneath the summer sun.
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The Loop Road Flower Wagon...

Acoustic Folk