by
Thistle in top his head

 

 
'Come the time to move along,
 
Weathered sign hang'd 'pon door:
 
'Those who seek that broken man
 
Well he won't live 'this place no-more:
 
He's gon to find his lady fair,
 
He's gon to steal she kiss;
 
He's gon to still the mount'n air;
 
He's got his leave'all of this. 
 
He's gon round ol' moldy hay-stack,
 
He's got thistle in top his head. 
 
He's lain wild-flower 'neath his poor back,
 
He's left but nothing in his 'stead. 
 
 
 
 
 
Year: 
2016
Forums: 

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