Down past Leiper's Fork where the Harpeth bends,
Mary Rose came to her end with a watermelon pit in her mouth.
Her pale blue eyes were open wide and the snowflakes fell inside.
High above her gaze, in the sky so grey, the last heron flew south.
That seed it cracked,
As the sky turned black, and it slid on down her throat.
The moon did rise to say goodbye; a whippoorwill delivered the note.
As her body sank on that muddy bank, a sprout rose through her teeth.
A tear did slide from the corner of
Her eye; the world watched in disbelief.
Yeah the fire rolls away when there ain't nothing left to burn.
Well, those clouds roll in when
Summer ends, and the roses wilt in turn.
The more you gave the more it took and it just ain't fair, I know.
But at least before you went to sleep,
You brought a dream right into this world, yeah, Mary Rose.
As dawn came on, a little boy's song broke upon the Harpeth shore,
At the place where Mary Rose once
Laid; but her body laid there no more.
Instead a watermelon vine with fruit so
Fine, like emeralds in the snow they shone.
Little Jackson Rose picked the best
Of those, and it tasted just like home.