He hasn't a cent to his name,
No roof to keep out the rain,
But he strums as he sings,
And what happiness he brings -
The Minstrel of Cranberry Lane.
Sometimes he's hungry and cold -
His clothes are a sight to behold -
But he's gentle and mild
As he sings to each child -
The Minstrel of Cranberry Lane.
One foggy night the neighbours met
In the meeting house down in the lane
They said, "This old man for our children is bad -
"Why, he even sings in the rain!"
So they issued a summons - the minstrel must go -
But they reckoned without his appeal,
For he sang of the gold at the rainbow's end,
And dreams only children can feel.
And so in the night, when the town was asleep,
He sang his sad roundelay,
And the children crept out of their beds in the night
And followed the minstrel away.
Now sadder but wiser, I fear,
Are the folks who've lost children so dear,
For each child must be free to follow like me
The Minstrel of Cranberry Lane.