John D. Loudermilk Little Grave
On Christmas Eve I went a walking out beyond the city gate
For to fetch a fresh young pheasant for my darling's Christmas plate
It was snowing oh so quietly and the woods were wide and soft
Just the sound of snowflakes falling and the footsteps as I walked
There I saw a fresh young pheasant and I shot and killed him there
And I heard a distant church bell as the bird fell from the air
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As I held his dying body the strangest thought came over me
God had made this little body that I have killed on Christmas Eve
All the woods were dark and shadowed with the light the cold stars gave
I sent a prayer to God in heaven and covered up the little grave
And covered up the little grave
