Haunts the balding hill
The old and balding hill
Where lately her house came down
The trees were tall and full
She knew them all so well
And loved them all so well
Out here, far from town
The love of Mary Rose
was home up on the hill
‘cross stream and up the hill
Al built her house up there
Al Labrador would walk
The road back into town
He much preferred the town
The people and the lights
He’d sit out by the road
As strangers took the bus
He’d sometimes take that bus
Down on the road to town
And Mary loved the trees
Old Al could walk the leaves
The trees shed, drying leaves
And you’d never hear a sound
The ghost of Mary Rose
Makes a high and keening sound
Keens a high, lamenting sound
Among those fallen leaves.
Now, the ghost of Mary goes
As her children fell the trees
All the ancient living trees
On the old and balding hill.
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