I hear Abe Lincoln's going away.
He's sold his store, no reason to stay,
Since Anne died he doesn't know
What he will do, where he can go.

Courted Anne Rutledge, neighbors say,
Fair as an appletree blooming in May,
There was something she seemed to know
Rooted in Lincoln, bound to grow.

Appletree blooming, spring in the sky,
What was she saying as they went by?
Talk of a new land, folks striving on,
What will his answer be now she is gone?

She wasn't' there to see how he grew,
What he might dream or do,
But he'd go on,
Anne Rutledge knew.