| It’s the Widow now that owns that angry plow
|
| The spartan Mule and The Crippled Cow
|
| The fallow field that will yield no more
|
| As the fox lay sleeping beneath her kitchen floor
|
| The stream can’t contain such the withering rain
|
| And from the pasture the fence it is leaning away
|
| The clouds crack and growl
|
| Like some great cat on the prowl
|
| Crying out, «I am, I am» over and over again
|
| The days grow short
|
| As the nights grow long
|
| The kettle sings it’s tortured song
|
| As many petalled kiss I place upon her brow
|
| Oh, my lady, Lady I am loving you now
|
| The winter birds have come back again
|
| Here the sprightly Chickadee
|
| Gone now is the Willow Wren
|
| In passing greet each other as if old, old friends
|
| And to the voiceless trees
|
| It is their own they will lend
|
| The days grow short
|
| As the nights grow long
|
| The kettle sings it’s tortured song
|
| As many petalled kiss I place upon her brow
|
| Oh, my lady, Lady I am loving you now
|
| And though all these things will change
|
| The memories will remain
|
| As green to gold, and gold to brown
|
| The leaves will fall to feed the ground
|
| And in their falling, make no sound
|
| Oh my lady
|
| Lady I am loving you now
|
| I’ve gathered all my money and I’m goin' to town
|
| To buy my lady a long and flowing gown
|
| 'Cause come tomorrow morning
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| We’re off to the county fair
|
| I’ll find a yellow flower
|
| And I will lace it in her hair
|
| The days grow short
|
| As the nights grow long
|
| The kettle sings it’s tortured song
|
| As many petalled kiss I place upon her brow
|
| Oh, my lady, Lady I am loving you now
|
| Oh, my lady, Lady I am loving you now |