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 it is 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.