Walk with me O’ son, let me tell you a tale
of Mr. Stewart and how he bailed
leaving me and you behind
I still 18 and you stillborn
We met in Mrs. Rosewood’s house
dark and dingy room, filled with ashes and smoke
set on a hill, on a damp Scottish dawn
as I shared the blanket and we kissed along
He, married twice, with both women dead
and I 18 fell for him and his ‘stache at first sight
But, Mr. Stewart plans were different
as he left me pregnant
and settled in Mrs. Rosewoods arm
In the midnight of 12th august
I rolled over the muddy floor in pain
hearing my roars and moans
neighbors called the wet nurses
She arrived and drew the curtain
I screamed at top of my voice
as you pushed and pulled
only to be stillborn with no beats or pulse
So, the day after you were born and dead
we buried you to the mother as we all wept in pain
but hush! It’s a bliss and tell none at all
that we still run merry’s and dance till we fall
O’ my son we will dance together
till I find my path to the place
where you reside
