There was an old man
He lived in the mountains
He toiled his land and warmed his own hearth
And when the day turned into dusk,
He laid down his tools and sat on a stump
He sat by his fire, and gazed at the moon
There was an old man
He lived in the mountains
He carried his load up long rocky slides
His son at his side, his daughter in front
And when the night turned into dawn,
He laid down his light and made up his bed
He set fire to his pot, and gazed at the sun
There was an old man
The mountains were many
And his echo still calls—
the dust of himself.
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