There's a strange, gaunt piper in doublet brown,
Comes over to heather and over the sea;
His dwelling is neither in city nor town,
And he pipes for the wee little folk and me.
His hat is high and pointed and green,
With a sprig in the band from the holly tree,
And his smile is the merriest ever seen
In the eyes of the wee little folk and me.
He cames at the close of the winter days,
As we sit in the firelight after tea;
He steals from the corner and smiles and plays
For the tired little wee folk and me.
And what are the tunes that the piper sings,
As the strange pipe trembles with melody?
I'd liketo tell you the beautiful things
He tells to the wee little folk and me.
But they fade as soon as the piper goes,
To take his journey o'er heather and sea.
Will he come to us again? Nobody knows.
Will you wait with the wee little folk and me?