From the street a strain on my ear doth fall,
A tune as threadbare as that “old red shawl,”
It is tattered, it is torn,
It shows signs of being worn,
It’s the tune my uncle hummed from early morn,
‘twas a common little thing and kind ‘a sweet,
But ‘twas sad and seemed to slow up both his feet;
I can see him shuffling down
To the barn or to the town