I am Francis Dowling, born in 1899
I went picking blueberries in the bright sunshine
That was the last time for me

Knowing you won’t ever get back
To the places on the rivers
Is the hardest part of growing old

I was a surveyor and I snowshoed every day
I would rise up early and be
Nothing but the rivers and me

Knowing you won’t ever get back…

I can still see those places in my mind

I lumbered in the winters in the days so cold
They landed lumber on the ice and the ice would hold
Oh, that was something to see

Knowing you won’t ever get back
To the places on the rivers
Is the hardest part of growing old