Luyện nghe bài hát Ballad Of The Harp Weaver

Son said my mother when I was high
You of clothes to cover you and not a rag have I
nothing in the house to make a boy's britches
Nor shears to cut a with nor thread to take stitches
There's in the house but a leaf end of rye
And the with a with the woman's head nobody will by and she began to cry
was in the early fall and when came the late fall
Son she said the sight of you makes your blood crawl
Little shoulder blades stickin' through your clothes
And where you get a jacket from God knows
lucky for me lad your daddy's in the ground
And see the way I let his son go around and she made a queer sound
That was in the late fall the winter came
I'd not a pair of bridges nor a shirt to my
I couldn't go to school or out of doors to
And all the little boys passed our way
Son my mother come climb into my lap
And I'll chave your little while you take a nap
And oh but we silly for half an hour or more
Me with my long legs on the floor
I rocked rocked rocked to a mother goose
Oh but we were happy for half an hour's
But was I a great boy and what would folks say
To my mother singin' me to sleep all day in such a daft way
Men say the was bad that year fuel was scarce and food was dear
A wind with a wolf's head howled our door
And we burned up the chairs and sat the floor
All that was us was a chair we couldn't break
And the harp with the woman's head nobody would take for song or sake
The night before Christmas I cried the cold
I cried to sleep like a two year old
And in the night I felt my mother rise
And down upon me with love in her eyes
I saw my mother sitting on the one chair
A light falling on her face from I couldn't tell
Looking nineteen and not a day
And the harp with the woman's leaned against her shoulder
Her thin fingers moving in the thin strings
Were weave weave weaving things
Many bright threads from I couldn't see
Were running through the harp strings
And threads whistlin' through my mother's hands
I saw the web and the pattern expand
She wove a child's and when it was done
She laid it on the and wove another one
She wove a red so regal to see
She's it for a king's son I said and not for me but I knew it was for me
She wove a pair of and quicker than that
She wove a of boots a little cocked hat
She wove a pair of mittens she a little blouse
She wove all night in the still cold
She sang as she worked and the harp spoke
But her voice faltered and the thread never broke
But when I awoke sat my mother
With the harp against her shoulder nineteen and not a day older
A smile about her lips and a light her head
And her hands in the harp frozen dead
And up beside her toppling to the skies
Were the clothes of a son just my size