Have you seen my wayfaring father

He went astride before I was grown

He left our stead and my fragile mother

(He said he would not tarry long)

I summon him this decoration day

 

I left our stead late December

(With no ballast or chink in my pockets)

Across Mountain brook

Through thorn-ed bramble

To find him consorting with the abandons

I will not be swayed, this decoration day

 

He will answer his final summons

He will ride a pale white horse

To lie with my mother on top of the mountain

Who lies beyond the darkest veil

 

Have you seen my wayfaring father

He can be found this decoration day

Forevermore, on this decoration day

I morn no more, on this decoration day