By the sun-boiled creek
The geese walk in a line.
The flower garden's full
Of wispy butterflies.
There's a train on the track;
Leave no one behind—
Or else how will they see
And love
The park in summertime?
We can hide in the shade
Or get sunburnt in the field—
Admire ornate sculptures
While we eat a picnic meal.
And when winter sets in
This place will go to sleep.
The park in summertime
Will feel like an antique.