The Carriage
The mahogany bar sells liquor and ale.
I finish a belt and summon my carriage
To ferry me over the emerald dale,
Homeward to the call of marriage.
The brooks are frozen, and the trees are white.
Canticles play in the gleam of the woodlands.
I dream of my lady's tender hands,
As the coach is tossed in the windy night.
On a precipice we travel as snow begins to fall.
My driver is an old one, and used to it all,
Though the coach sways madly in the bitter cold.
He tells me we should rest on the side
Of the rocky, whited road, for the wheels begin to slide.
But my bride awaits with lips of gold.
The mahogany bar sells liquor and ale.
I finish a belt and summon my carriage
To ferry me over the emerald dale,
Homeward to the call of marriage.
The brooks are frozen, and the trees are white.
Canticles play in the gleam of the woodlands.
I dream of my lady's tender hands,
As the coach is tossed in the windy night.
On a precipice we travel as snow begins to fall.
My driver is an old one, and used to it all,
Though the coach sways madly in the bitter cold.
He tells me we should rest on the side
Of the rocky, whited road, for the wheels begin to slide.
But my bride awaits with lips of gold.
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