I cut down the tree,
on down by the river,
I cut down the tree
over the swimming hole.
I cut down the tree
after waiting for hours
for a word of reprieve
from deep down in my soul.

Back when, the tree was
the place that I’d run to,
a place full of wonder,
a mysterious hold,
a keep of my future,
my fancies and fortunes,
a sunny sanctuary
for a heart that beat bold.

I cut down the tree
on down by the river,
the tree where I swung
when the nightingales sang,
where my lover had wore me
in the blossoms of spring.
and my firstborn did leave me
in a midsummer’s dream.

I cut down the tree,
but for long it was coming.
I cut down the tree
when my hopes had grown old.
I cut down the tree-
I needed some money,
and winter was coming,
a fortnight of cold.

I cut down the tree
on down by the river,
I cut down the tree
beyond the blackberry knoll,
I cut down the tree
with a great deal of crying
for kindling and forgetting
and a casket for Joel.