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Farewell Poem Farewell, my girl, and cry no longer, I'll be back anon! Stay, wait for me, I'll come back running, You will see me then. The drums are calling, the crows are wheeling, I'm off to win my lot! She dried her tears, a brave smile blooming. 'Oh promise me You will return ere winter's weather Turns to spring again. The drums are calling, the crows are wheeling, be off to win your lot!' I promised her, and took the roadway to find my luck abroad. The road was long, with many turnings, But luck was not my lot. Though drums were calling, and crows were wheeling, I could not win my lot. So rested I beside a river, my sword a pitted wreck, when I remembered my dear sweetheart, and the promise that I made. The drums are calling, the crows are wheeling, I still had not my lot. When winter's weather turned to springtime, I rounded my last bend, and saw my girl there, waiting for me, my road was at its end. The drums ceased calling, the crows their wheeling, I now had found my lot."
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