Little Boy Red
Little Boy Red, come out of the sun.
The garden is planted, and the work is all done.
The cows are all sleeping and the sheep have been shorn, the willows all weeping and the crows overlooked our sweet corn.
I know you are tired, for the day has been long, but the doves beckon us to swing to their song.
Whip-or-wills calling the sun to go down, so I know it's time to rest, no time to be blue... my little boy Red.