Apples drop and blossoms bloom
The naked sky it covers you
Like I wanted to
I see you on your bicycle
You pedal to the places that you know
I’d like to go with you

High atop a ferris wheel
I caught a county caterpillar
I won a prize
Swaying in the fragrant breeze
A patch of dirt upon your knees
And the heat in your hot brown eyes

To the country you go
The farmhand and his sweet red rose
The thorn never shows
But it grows, and grows, and grows . . .

Ah but nature covers up her hymns
The river sinãgs it holy hymns to God
And love
Ankle deep in poison weeds
The devil’s work and other deeds
With you my darling love

To the country you go
The farmhand and his sweet red rose
The thorn never shows
But it grows, and grows, and grows . . .

A soft rain falls upon my blouse
And now there is no doubt
I see gallows hang in that house

I thought I saw you wave today
But then you turned your eyes to look away
And then I knew
So solemn in your silly chair
Longing for the open air
The things we could do

To the country we go
The farmhand and his sweet red rose
The thorn never shows
But it grows, and grows, and grows . . .

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