Page:Songs of the Road Doyle.djvu/128

Rh Father, father, who is that who laughs at us?

Who is it who chuckles in the glen?

Oh, father, let us go,

For the light is burning low,

And there's somebody laughing in the glen.

Father, father, tell me what you're waiting for,

Tell me why your eyes are on the door.

It is dark and it is late,

But you sit so still and straight,

Ever staring, ever smiling, at the door.