Billy came in sixteen ninety-three,
With a patched-up coat and a crooked key.
He knew the lanes where the old
Mill stood, and vanished one night
By the edge of the wood.
Oh, Billy, where did you go?
No one knows, no one knows.
When October winds begin to moan,
Billy comes back to walk us home.
The church bell counted the midnight
Hour, the leaves lay
Thick by the ruined tower.
His footprints stopped at a stone-cold
Stream, and the village kept asking