Two trees on a hillside of the mountain
Always looking up towards the sky
Remind me of my papa and my mama
Who lived there eighty years before they died
Now a bright moon is shining in the valley
An old wagon leans against a stack of hay
Two graves on a hillside by the cabin
My mom and dad are resting there today
The burning of the green wood on the fireplace
The fallen snow around the red bud trees
The branches of the laurel by the creek bed
And the rippling waters of the gentle stream
Papa used to talk about the young days
When he and mama first were settled there
He spoke about the love of the mountains
That he and mama shared together there