WON'T YOU BE MY FRIEND?
Lisa Jo was bored one day,
Because no one could come and play.
She looked and looked, high and low.
On the tops of the trees and under her toe.
But she couldn’t find a boy or girl,
With short, short hair or flowing curls,
Who wanted to play or jump or sing
Or simply sit and think of things.
Lisa saw the treetops blow.
The wind was blowing, very low.
She wanted someone with which to play,
And so she raised her head to say,
“Wind, Oh, Wind
Won’t you be my friend?
Won’t you be my friend?
I’ll say it over again and again.
WON’T
YOU
BE
MY
FRIEND?”
The Wind was pleased to see she cared.
And talked much louder than he dared.
“If you build a little boat,
I will blow and make it float.”
And so, they played along the ditch
Sailing ships that lean and pitch.
She thanked the wind and started to run,
Looking for more ways for fun.
Lisa ran along her way
Searching, searching for some one to play.
She ran up to a willow tree
And asked it very emphatically,
“Tree, Oh, Tree,
Won’t you be my friend?
Won’t you be my friend?
I’ll say it over again and again.
WON’T
YOU
BE
MY
FRIEND?”
The Tree was pleased to see she cared.
And talked much louder than he dared.
“You can climb upon my limbs
And pretend I’m a jungle gym.”
And so, she climbed without a stop
Finally reaching the very top.
Upon each branch, she hung to swing.
Twisted her body into pretzels and things.
She thanked the tree and started to run,
Looking for more ways for fun.
A clump of grass was calling her
To come and play. These were her words,
“Grass, Oh Grass,
Won’t you be my friend?
Won’t you be my friend?
I’ll say it over again and again.
WON’T
YOU
BE
MY
FRIEND?”
The Grass was pleased to see she cared
And talked much louder than he dared.
“You can use me as a mat,
For summersaults, cartwheels, this and that.”
And so, she tumbled, head over heels,
Really enjoying how the grass feels.
It’s soft and cool, and in the end,
She simply laid down by her new friend.
She thanked the grass and started to run,
Looking for more ways for fun.
Lisa Jo knew she could find.
Friends of many different kinds.
“Won’t you be my friend?
Won’t you be my friend?
I’ll say it over again and again.
WON’T
YOU
BE
MY
FRIEND?”
©Lynnette Schuepbach, May 24, 1994