| My grandparents on my father’s side had a strawberry farm. |
| It’s a
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| Beautiful thing, a beautiful occupation… a strawberry farm. |
| We
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| Always used to try to go down there at just the right time of year
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| «Oh, are the, are the berries ready? |
| Oh. |
| Good!»
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| Ella Mae — the redwings returned today
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| A little rain fell in the morning
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| The afternoon was clear
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| An' that song you loved to hear
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| Was filling up the fence row where the birds all go
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| To talk over their long journey and sing
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| Ella Mae — all the gifts you gave
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| Tremble in my life like a startled deer
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| You gave me my Pa
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| Who is in me as you are
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| And the southern piney hills
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| The clear water and the running rills
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| That tumbled through the lives of us all
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| Six big men and one big strong woman
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| You and little Granpa David raised up there
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| They all had families
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| We all come back to see you
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| You hugged us all in turn
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| Cocked you head and said we’d grown
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| And touched us with your hands
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| That smelled like bread
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| Ella Mae — it’s a clear warm summer’s day
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| The young birds are trying out their wings
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| Ah it’s something to see them try
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| To get up there and fly
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| And my own child is bound to do the same
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| Today she learned three birds' names
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| Ella Mae — I can see you plain as day
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| Sailing out like a ship to your garden
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| In your old wide-brim straw hat
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| With a long handled hoe in your hand
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| Pausing at the gate I see you look south to the pond
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| A long time quiet smile on your face
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| Ella Mae — when your David went away
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| After cutting brush all day long
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| Well, your life just slowly closed
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| Like a worn out autumn rose
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| You could not find the bread
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| You could not make your lonesome bed
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| Or really do a thing but rise and go
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| Ella Mae — the redwings left today
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| Passing in a long cloud of wings
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| They’re headed down your way
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| They’ll be there in a couple of days
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| They’ll sing that song you loved
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| As they fly above
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| Your resting place by David in the pines |