Were standing in the woods
Out on the hill above the town,
Where once a farmhouse stood.
In the winter the leaves are bare
And no one sees the signs
Of a house that stood and a garden that grew
And life in another time.
One Spring when the buds came bursting forth
And grass grew on the land,
The Lilac spoke to the Apple tree
As only an old friend can.
Do you think, said the Lilac, this might be the year
When someone will build here once more?
Here by the cellar, still open and deep,
There's room for new walls and a floor.
Oh, no, said the Apple, there are so few
Who come here on the mountain this way
And when they do, they don't often see
Why we're growing here, so far away.
A long time ago we were planted by hands
That worked in the mines and the mills
When the country was young and the people who came
Built their homes in the hills.
But now there are cities, the roads have come
And no one lives here today
And the only signs of the farms in the hills
Are the things not carried away
Broken dishes, piles of boards,
A tin plate, an old leather shoe.
And an Apple tree still bending down
And a Lilac where a garden once grew.
A Lilac bush and an Apple tree Were standing in the woods Out on the hill above the town, Where once a farmhouse stood. In the winter the leaves are bare And no one sees the signs Of a house that stood and a garden that grew And life in another time. One Spring when the buds came bursting forth And grass grew on the land, The Lilac spoke to the Apple tree As only an old friend can. Do you think, said the Lilac, this might be the year When someone will build here once more? Here by the cellar, still open and deep, There's room for new walls and a floor. Oh, no, said the Apple, there are so few Who come here on the mountain this way And when they do, they don't often see Why we're growing here, so far away. A long time ago we were planted by hands That worked in the mines and the mills When the country was young and the people who came Built their homes in the hills. But now there are cities, the roads have come And no one lives here today And the only signs of the farms in the hills Are the things not carried away Broken dishes, piles of boards, A tin plate, an old leather shoe. And an Apple tree still bending down And a Lilac where a garden once grew. Explain Request ×
Lyrics taken from
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