Sat on a boulder
With a sac on my shoulder
Watching the river flow
The air grew colder
And I felt much older
Remembering my time must go
Let go the past
Like a jet it is fast
And flies by just
So and so
I take out my glass
And look at the lass
Who told me my love
Must be slow
Oh come to the hills
Where the Buzzard shrills
And the birch bark peels its skin
And though time marches on
The last words of its song
Have yet to be fully writ in
With a song on my sleeve
And a one to believe
My heart is free as the crows
Who do all hurry on
In their black and white song
Just as the river that flows
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