In the hollow where the pines were standing tall
In the shadows where the woods were dark and still
To a worn and weathered shack my thoughts keep turning back
To that old mountain home below the mill
I left it in the springtime when the flowers were in bloom
And I told my folks I'd see them in the fall
But the road keeps stretching onward from the cradle to the tomb
And I guess I'll never see my folks at all
I can hear the wild goose calling in the sky
I can see the dry leaves falling in the lane
I miss the wood fire on a cold and rainy night
And the trees scratching at my windowpane
I left it in the springtime when the flowers were in bloom
And I told my folks I'd see them in the fall
But the road keeps stretching onward from the cradle to the tomb
And I guess I'll never see my folks at all
As the years go by the seasons pass away
That old home keeps returning to my mind
I'd give a lot to see that place so dear to me
That hollow in the woods I left behind
I left it in the springtime when the flowers were in bloom
And all the birds were singing in the glen
But the road keeps stretching onward from the cradle to the tomb
And I guess I'll never see my home again