Childhood is a meadow, for angels without wings . . . Childhood is a meadow, of toys an' rose-covered swings . . . With singing brooks for laughing hearts at play and a fence made of rainbows to keep every care away . . . Childhood is a meadow, and as the years depart, it remains evergreen and can only be seen by those who are young in heart . . . Childhood is a meadow, and as the years depart, it remains evergreen and can only be seen by those who are young in heart . . .