Mary, Mary, so quiet, and so still
Come sit by my side, at the edge of the mill
Hear the brook, babble.
As it climbs over the weir
See the wheel spinning, with a swoosh, and a swirl
As it turns the wheel slowly
To bring power to the mill
To grind ears of corn, barley, or wheat
To make flour for the bread
The villagers will eat
To make them grow strong
To work in the fields
To gather the corn to take to the mill
That will be ground into flour
By the great wheels of stone
Then into sacks and off into town
To buy you a bonnet for your wedding gown.
Just a country tale, not about you Mary, honest.