Deep in the woods, where the blackberries grow,
By the stream, where we picked the wild rose,
In the midst of the old cottonwood grove.
You know the place. Meet me there again.

Beneath the willow, where the sweet spring water flows,
Down in the valley, where the gentle breezes blow,
Beside the glassy pond that in the sunset glows.
You know the place. Meet me there again.

Around the bend of the dusty gravel road,
Under the spreading branches of our favorite oak,
Down in the old shack, where you once hung mistletoe.
You know the place. Meet me there again.

Past the bushes that would sparkle in the snow,
Across the creek on the worn-smooth stepping stones.
Once stood alone. Oh, promise you will show.
You know the place. Meet me there again.

Deep in the woods, where the blackberries grow,
By the stream, where we picked the wild rose,
In the midst of the old cottonwood grove.
You know the place. Meet me there again.