Two trees on the hillside of the mountain
Always looking up towards the sky
Reminds me of my papa and my momma
Who lived there 80 years before they died
Now the bright moon is shining in the valley
That old wagon leans against a stack of hay
Two graves on the hillside by a cabin
My mom and dad are resting there today
The burning of the greenwood on the fireplace
The fallen snow around the red bud tree
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 momma first settled there
He spoke about the love of the mountains
That he and momma shared together there