With your old dog at your side, Out the back door slipped away, And you climbed those rugged Catskills, That sunny summer day. And you came upon a little man, Who took you up the side, Of a mountain valley lush and green, With a twinkle in his eye. Didn’t ask your name or question you, But bid you tote his cask, Full of rich dark wine, up the steep hillside, And through a hidden pass. So, you joined with his crew, In a flagon or two, And they filled your long white pipe, And the dreams that you wove, Like a fine tapestry, Are laced throughout your mind, On that summer day, when you slipped away, From your nagging industrious wife. And it seemed but a night, that you slept out your life, Never were on to question the time, With your beard a foot long, you entered a town, That bore a resemblance to home. The children you’d known, from the past have all grown, And your old dog just offers a bite. They don’t know who you are with your beard and long hair, Not a sign of your nagging old wife. But you laugh deep inside because you’ve beaten their game, You’ve been dreaming away your whole life. You have mocked all their rules - butchers, bakers and fools, You’ve returned just to ask for a light. You don’t need to explain, where you’ve been, what you’ve seen, Rip Van Winkle, just pass me the pipe...