Once again, he climbs the hills, above the salty bay,
And walks along the path, through the fields, where she used to play.
His silver hair and tattered clothes, blowing in the wind,
That whispers, the name, of his darling ‘Carolynn'.
He finds a rock to sit upon, and looks out to the water,
And once again she comes to him, his precious, only daughter.
Through the ghostly floating mist, he sees her smiling eyes,
Those eyes, where forever, is heart and soul reside.
She takes his hand and leads him, to the fields, of crimson clover,
To that place on the cliff, that the old oak tree, grows over,
And he sees the rope, tied around, the bough of that old tree,
And feels the sunshine, on his face and hears the humming of the bees.
His old weak heart, begins to hammer, in his sunken chest,
As he sees her run, with glee, towards the overhanging crest,
He tries to run, to stop her, but his feet stay frozen, to the ground,
He screams, to no avail, for she is deaf, and can not hear a sound.
She laughs and waves goodbye, as she grabs the braided rope,
And runs, with all her might, and swings out above the slope,
And in that frozen moment, he hears the snapping of the bough,
And he sees his darling, Carolynn, hanging high above the brow.
He sees her startled eyes, and he hears her helpless cries,
Just before she falls to the rocks below and dies.
He drops, to his knees, still screaming and crawls out to the edge,
And when he looks below, he knows that he is also dead.
And they find him in the morning, 40 years, from that fateful day,
Hanging from that old oak tree, in the place, she used to play.