Coming Home Along

I do be crying, though the gray bird sings.

I do be sighing, wishing time had wings..

I do be longing for the winter to be past,

When the man I be loving comes home along at last.

Fields do lie fallow; and idle lies the plough,

Hillside and valley feel no sunshine now,

I do be waiting with love ever strong,

Till the one I be longing for comes home, comes home along.