Mama was his Wildwood Flower, my Daddy used to say,
And to prove to her he loved her, he'd play it every day.
Mom would look at him and smile, she'd say, "God bless my man,
I don't regret one single time that I gave him my hand."
The Wildwood Flower
(The Wildwood Flower)
Was his favorite song,
And when he played for Mama,
Her house became a home.
Mom took sick and passed away, this was his darkest hour.
He came home that very day and he played the Wildwood Flower.
Time went by and he grew old, he'd sit and play for hours,
Mem'ries of Mom on his old guitar, he'd play the Wildwood Flower.
One night, as I walked by his house, I though I heard his song.
I heard Mama talkin', but Mom had long been gone.
I looked through the window and saw God's mighty power,
There sat Mom with Daddy, he was playin' the Wildwood Flower.
As he grew old, he could play no more, and his mind began to fail.
We'd often find him in the field, he seemed so old and frail.
One day, we couldn't find him, and after many days,
Found him lyin' with the wildwood flowers, up on Mama's grave.