by A. Lawrence Vaincourt

As the months add up and the years roll by I realize more each day,

That our time on this earth is passing by and we'll soon be on our way.

I can't complain, for my life's been good and regrets, I have but few

But before I depart from this earthly place there are things I have yet to do.

Though I lay no claim to wealth or fame still, life has not passed me by,

For I was born a country boy and a country boy I'll die.

Big city life with its toil and strife, I chose for myself and yet,

As my mind slips back to my carefree youth there are things that I can't forget.

So I must go back to the old home farm again, just one more time,

To dabble my feet in a babbling brook and find a tree to climb.

Return to where I carved my name on the bole of a big beech tree,

And lie at rest in a leaf-filled nest that is known to only me.

To lie on my back in a field once more, on a beautiful summer's day,

While I turn my face to the cloudless sky and smell the fresh-cut hay.

There is life that teems in the woods and streams while birdsong fills the air

And I'll hear the knell of a far church bell as I lie so peaceful there.

And my childhood friends will gather 'round and they'll be as young as me

And we'll sit and we'll talk of our future plans for a life that is yet to be

But if I should gaze in the limpid pool beneath that old beech tree,

There'll be an old guy staring back, and I'll know that guy is me.

So I must go back to the farm again before I am too old,

To re-live, once more, a carefree time

and perhaps, restore my soul.

© 1991 A. Lawrence Vaincourt

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