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Roger Whittaker
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The Seasons
In eighteen hundred ninety eight
Grandpa built a fence around the farm
and in that fence he put a gate.
Behind the ate he put a road,
that led up to a house of wood,
That grandpa took a year to build.
And when he done to him his house of wood looked good.
Now the seasons come and the seasons go,
green follows brown sun follow snow.
And trough it all he ploughed the land.
He did it all with his own hand.
In nineteen hundred and nine
Grandpa turned a girl into a wife
and in the turning took his time.
Now with his wife he shared the load.
And every day the work was done.
And in a year within that house,
she bore a child – his first and only one a son.
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Now the seasons come and the seasons go,
Green follows brown sun follow snow.
And trough it all he ploughed the land.
He did it all with his own hand.
Now gently lay him down to rest.
Within the fence around the farm
upon the hillside he loved best.
I close the gate – I walk the road,
that leads up to the house of wood,
that grandpa took a year to build.
And when I look – to me – his house of wood looks good.
Now the seasons come and the seasons go,
Green follows brown sun follow snow.
And trough it all he ploughed the land.
He did it all with his own hand.
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