They Buried George

The sad day came, they buried GEORGE;
Only sixty-four years old-
And was so rich, they lowered him down,
In a coffin made of gold!

A hundred morners came to eat;
Yaaa..A hundred MOURNERS came to eat;
But none of them was me;
And therre were three Ministers….
Just like the “Fiddlers Three”.

Thirty-five cars went rolling by-
And even the dogs behave-
Because they knew they were hauling George
FROM ROCKHAM, TO THE GRAVE.

Now some day we will see his name
Upon a cold gray stone-
For Angels came from far away-
And George went with them HOME.

I tried to only tell the truth-
But found to my surprise-
That truth is often only tears-
That shine in a womans eyes.

GEORGE, and the days gone by.

As to us all the last day came-
And we laid GEORGE away;
And they sang “Down By the Riverside”-
For thats where he longed to stay.

George was not an old man yet-
He was only sixty-four-
And his long days on the farm were gone-
Like days that come no more!

We plow the fields ED used to know-
We follow the winding ways
Of the quiet creek, when the sun hangs low,
At the end of summer day.
At the end of SUMMER DAYS.

We lift the planks by the old red barn-
And the NIGHT LIGHT burns there still-
We fix the fence, for the BOSS is gone-
Tho it winds o’er many a hill.

The old gray house stands just the same,
As it did all the years before;
And the cement steps where they will walk
Through snow and wind, no more.

And it seems only a little while,
Since that windy day-
When George and Ed cam down to help
Us move the cattle away,

They said GOODBYE to the FARM that day-
The tree lined creek, and the “Medder”-
THEY HELPED US GOOD……I think they knew,
IT WAS THEIR LAST JOG TOGETHER!

They tried to keep their creekside farm
A single Paradise……….
Nor cared to steer their SHIP by the light
THAT SHINES IN WOMENS EYES!

For their LOVE was the lonely farm-
Where now the wild winds roam-
And there was never a Maiden’s Smile
COULD LURE THEM FAR FROM HOME.

DAYS GONE BY

We plow as they the Old Home Fields-
The meadow sings its song-
And all the winds of summer weave
Adown the rows or corn!

They say he’s gone to the FISHING STREAMS,
That are free of EARTHLY PAIN!
tho nobody knows just WHERE HE WENT,
HE GOT THERE JUST THE SAME.

Now we still plow the bottom fields-
We hear the rustling corn-
While all the winds of summer weave-
And the meadow sings its song.

There are no more trips to Rochester;
And tho they cried and cried-
GEORGE has lost all his troubles
DOWN BY THE RIVERSIDE.