Last Harvest in the Bog

(hummmmm) The bog is red with floating berries,

the autumn sky is grey

I've raked them since I was a boy,

and now it's my last day

My children left for Boston,

they don't want the farmer's life

But these cranberries are my children,

they've been through joy and strife I'm the cranberry raker's last bog,

I'm wading in the deep

The berries float like rubies,

promises I'll keep

The harvest moon is rising,

the water's cold and still

And I'll rake these final berries,

a memory on the hill

The neighbors used to help me,

their children used to come

We'd have a harvest party,

with music and with rum

The bog was full of laughter,

the air was full of cheer

And now I'm standing here alone,

the end of fifty years

I scoop the berries into the crate,

they're heavy and they're bright

I know this is the final time I'll work in fading light

My children won't return to me,

the bog will be no more

But I have raked my love into each berry that I store

I'm the cranberry raker's last bog,

I'm wading in the deep

The berries float like rubies,

promises I'll keep

The harvest moon is rising,

the water's cold and still

And I'll rake these final berries,

a memory on the hill

A memory on the hill (ahhhh)