I heard an old farm-wife, Selling some barley, Mingle her life with life And the name "Charley".
Saying, "The crop's all in, We're about through now; Long nights will soon begin, We're just us two now.
Twelve bushels at sixty cents, It's all I carried — He sickened making fence; He was to be married —
It feels like frost was near — His hair was curly. The spring was late that year, But the harvest early."