Where The Bog Cotton Grow

Of the rural lifestyle he is one who know The one from the place where the bog cotton grow In the warm clime he says he won't grow old He'd prefer to live where 'tis damper and cold. 'Twas his lust for adventure brought him this far south To this often brown Country often ravaged by drought Far from the house by the bog by the clear mountain rill That babbles on down from the field by the hill. As years go a young man only twenty three And much more of the World he's determined to see To reach this far south from his northern home-shore He must have travelled ten thousand miles or more. In the prime of his life and unburdened by care He comes from the place of the shy mountain hare Though he does like the Country in this Land he won't stay The climate for him that bit too warm he does say. Of landscapes of brown and of landscapes of green In three years of travelling so much he has seen But next year he'll return to where the babbling stream flow From the hill through the place where the bog cotton grow.