The leaves,
they are green,
and the trees,
they are tall.
All those happy summer days are all past and gone.
Here am I left on the
coldest winter day.
He is young, but he's daily a-growing.
Oh, Father,
dear Father,
you've done me much wrong.
For you have married me to a boy that's too young.
I am twice twelve,
and he is but thirteen.
He is young, but he's daily a-growing.
Daughter, dear daughter,
I've done you no wrong.
For I have married you to a rich farmer's son.
And if you but love him,
he'll be your lord and kin.
He is young,
but he's daily a-growing.
At the
age of thirteen,
a married man was he.
At the age of fourteen,
his oldest son was born.
At the age of sixteen,
on his grave the grass grows green.
And death had put an end to his growing.
