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Sprig of Thyme —Dave Van Ronk— |
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Come all you sweet and fair young maids |
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Who flourish in your prime |
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Be sure and keep your garden clean |
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Let no man take your thyme |
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My thyme it is all blown away |
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I cannot plant a new one |
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In the place where my thyme stood |
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It's all grown up in rue |
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In June comes in a primrose flower |
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But that is not for me |
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I will pull off my primrose flower and plant |
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A willow tree |
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Oh willow, green willow |
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With sorrows mixed among |
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To tell to all this wide wide world |
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I love a false young man |
