(Dave Goulder)
When the calendar brings in the cuckoo
And the summer comes following on
And the thin mists of day see him running away
And they know him as Faraway Tom
The earth his bed and his pillow
And the sheets are the clothes he has on
He spends all afternoon hunting the moon
Till it rises for Faraway Tom
He sees the fox leaving its hollow
And he knows where the badger is gone
He watches the fawn in the sheltering thorn
But they don't see old Faraway Tom
He knows nothing of letters or learning
And of manners and such he has none
He numbers the seasons on fingers and toes
As they pass over Faraway Tom
But what of the winters to follow
Where age and cauld winds bring him down
Where will he lie when the snow fills the sky
And the year's turning, Faraway Tom
As sung by Jean Redpath