And make believe, down by the Silver Thread Falls,
That we’re on a honeymoon, like Grandma Mauls,
Just you, little boy, and I.
Yes, I’ll come and play with you, little boy,
For I must be your little girl.
I’ll cook in an oven of clay and of loam;
I’ll kiss you, dear boy, whene’er you come home,
And then you’ll kiss me, little boy, all my own,
Just you, little boy, and I.