William Elliott Whitmore
William Elliott Whitmore
William Elliott Whitmore
William Elliott Whitmore
William Elliott Whitmore
William Elliott Whitmore
William Elliott Whitmore
William Elliott Whitmore
William Elliott Whitmore
William Elliott Whitmore
The trees are growing
You planted on the hill when you were young
The fence is still holding
The posts were set so long ago
The stories you told me
Echo inside my weary head
Lessons you taught me
Got me through when things turned bad
The shotgun is loaded
That hangs above the kitchen door
When you took sick we all knew
You wouldn't be around to protect us anymore
The birds are still singing
Our earthly cares don't worry them
Melodies from the trees
Come down through the leaves and limbs
We still have our songs
Let us sing them all day long
The hour of need is here indeed
This is how we'll carry on