High above the brushfire|Strong against the wind|Branches wide |Needles thin||She's won't change for the season|Doesn't bring the desert shade|But you should see her dance|When the sunlight fades||The old grey pine|There'll come a time|There'll come a time|You'll see beauty in the old grey pine||She sways on her lonesome|Though you cant feel a breeze|She don't know you're watching|But she wants you to see||Her song it is the cricket|It doesn't end or begin|But when the morning light comes|She steadies her limbs||The old grey pine|There'll come a time|There'll come a time|You'll see beauty in the old grey pine||Her lesson is patience|Her lot is to wait|Her presence is humble|Her power is great||The old grey pine|There'll come a time|There'll come a time|You'll see beauty in the old grey pine||The old grey pine|There'll come a time|There'll come a time|You'll see beauty in the old grey pine|There'll come a time|There'll come a time|You'll see beauty in the old grey pine||