sail the boat against the flow
sit in the yard you don't mow
watch the flock of screeching crows
watch the children walking slow
wait for nightfall over snow
wait for wife to cook the dough
listen for the whistle blow
audience laughing at the show
wait for bugs that lose their glow
above the river that is low
think how it was long ago
and cry from the awful woe
the river, the river, is too low
and fireflies have lost their glow.
It's over, don't you know,
when the crops cease to grow.