In Grandma's yard, the birds swooped down
To feed upon the crumbs of bread
So hush, my child, don't make a sound.

For bygone decades, on this ground
The swallows and my grandma tread
In Grandma's yard, the birds swooped down

Year after year, we spied spellbound
At gliding wings and breasts of red,
So hush, my child, don't make a sound.

Returning every year, unbound,
In front of Winter's chill, they fled,
In Grandma's yard, the birds swooped down.

With crusts in hand and in her gown,
She remembered, words unsaid.
So hush, my child, don't make a sound.

Now she rests beneath that ground
And so her children come instead,
In Grandma's yard, the birds swooped down,
So hush, my child, don't make a sound.