Son said my mother when I was knee high 

You need of clothes to cover you and not a rag have I 

There's nothing in the house to make a boy's britches 

Nor shears to cut a cloth with nor thread to take stitches 

There's nothing in the house but a leaf end of rye 

And the harp with a with the woman's head nobody will by and she began to cry 

That was in the early fall and when came the late fall 

Son she said the sight of you makes your mother's blood crawl 

Little skinny shoulder blades stickin' through your clothes 

And where you get a jacket from God above knows 

It's lucky for me lad your daddy's in the ground 

And can't see the way I let his son go around and she made a queer sound 

That was in the late fall when the winter came 

I'd not a pair of bridges nor a shirt to my name 

I couldn't go to school or out of doors to play 

And all the other little boys passed our way 

Son said my mother come climb into my lap 

And I'll chave your little knees while you take a nap 

And oh but we were silly for half an hour or more 

Me with my long legs draggin' on the floor 

I rocked rocked rocked to a mother goose rhyme 

Oh but we were happy for half an hour's time 

But there was I a great boy and what would folks say 

To hear my mother singin' me to sleep all day in such a daft way 

Men say the winter was bad that year fuel was scarce and food was dear 

A wind with a wolf's head howled about our door 

And we burned up the chairs and sat upon the floor 

All that was left us was a chair we couldn't break 

And the harp with the woman's head nobody would take for song or pity sake 

The night before Christmas I cried with the cold 

I cried myself to sleep like a two year old 

And in the deep night I felt my mother rise 

And stare down upon me with love in her eyes 

I saw my mother sitting on the one good chair 

A light falling on her face from I couldn't tell where 

Looking nineteen and not a day older 

And the harp with the woman's head leaned against her shoulder 

Her thin fingers moving in the thin tall strings 

Were weave weave weaving wonderful things 

Many bright threads from where I couldn't see 

Were running through the harp strings rapidly 

And gold threads whistlin' through my mother's hands 

I saw the web grow and the pattern expand 

She wove a child's jacket and when it was done 

She laid it on the floor and wove another one 

She wove a red cloak so regal to see 

She's made it for a king's son I said and not for me but I knew it was for me 

She wove a pair of bridges and quicker than that 

She wove a pair of boots a little cocked hat 

She wove a pair of mittens she wove a little blouse 

She wove all night in the still cold house 

She sang as she worked and the harp strings spoke 

But her voice never faltered and the thread never broke 

But when I awoke there sat my mother 

With the harp against her shoulder lookin' nineteen and not a day older 

A smile about her lips and a light about her head 

And her hands in the harp strings frozen dead 

And piled up beside her toppling to the skies 

Were the clothes of a king's son just my size