THE FOGGY FOGGY DEW

I've talked before about chance. About unpredictability. Today someone spoke to me about fog and I was immediately drawn to a beautiful song I accompanied years ago. A folk song. The setting was by Benjamin Britten.

But what really draws me to the song is how it tells a life story in a few verses. I've been envying this ability in poets and writers. Also in composers. To tell a lifetime in a few seconds. Zooming out and enjoying the perspective. If we could only do this once a day...

When I was a bachelor, I liv'd all alone
I worked at the weaver's trade
And the only, only thing that I ever did wrong
Was to woo a fair young maid.
I wooed her in the wintertime
And in the summer, too
And the only, only thing that I did that was wrong
Was to keep her from the foggy, foggy dew.

One night she came to my bedside
When I was fast asleep.
She laid her head upon my bed
And she began to weep.
She sighed, she cried, she damn near died
She said what shall I do?
So I hauled her into bed and covered up her head
Just to keep her from the foggy foggy dew.

So, I am a bachelor, I live with my son
and we work at the weaver's trade.
And every single time that I look into his eyes
He reminds me of that fair young maid.
He reminds me of the wintertime
And of the summer, too,
And of the many, many times that I held her in my arms
Just to keep her from the foggy, foggy, dew.