The way I feel is like a robin, Whoses birds have flown to come no more, Like a tall oak-tree, alone and cryin', When the birds have flown and the nest is bare.
Now a woman, lord, is like a young bird, And the tall oak-tree is a young man's heart. Among it's branches, you'll find her nesting When the nights are cool, she is warm and dry.
In leaves of green they will protect her, Her wings will grow, your love will too But all too soon your mighty branches Will fail to hold her, she'll fly from you.
Printer Friendly Version