Mountain Mandolin
Its mournful melodies come drifting
Through the valley and the glen,
Those last haunting , misting memories
Of the mountain mandolin.
A jaunty jew’s-harp joins along now
Like a lonesome loud amen,
While a fiddle fades and then rises
With that mountain mandolin.
Then the bass moans of an old cowboy
Who in rage shot his best friend,
As that band of long ago plays on
Like soft thunder in the wind.
Yet, one by one those cowboys drift off
As we still remember when
And we join that dying orchestra
Lead by that mountain mandolin.
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