Thursday, March 03, 2005

The Cabin on the homestead

There's a cabin on the homestead
In a valley far away;
Where the pines are always sighing,
and the lazy breezes play.

There's a creek that's ever winding,
ever winding to the sea;
Just a silver ribbon gleaming
In a land that's far and free.

There's a mother ever waiting,
and a light that ever shines
In the cabin on the homestead;
and the tie that ever binds.

But they've roped me in the city
and I guess I'm doomed to stay,
While ever my mind's a wand'ring
and ever my mem'ries stray.

Dreaming, dreaming, ever dreaming
While my eyes grow dim with age;
Drifting, drifting, ever drifting,
life is passing page by page.

E'er I long for the solitudes
stretched beneath the Milky Way;
To dream alone, the world my own
In the evening's dusky gray.

To sit at night, in dreamy light
Of my campfire's flapping flare;
To rest in peace, where worries cease,
Forgotten, the world of care.

Oh, I'd love to ditch my collars
and my jewel-studded shirt;
Leave behind the smoke-screened cities
and their sorrow, noise and dirt.

Just to sit again and ponder
on the banks of that old stream;
Not a care, a task, a sorrow,
Just to sit and dream and dream.

But life drives us ever onward,
One step backward and we fall;
And grim duties ever lead us
O'er a rough and winding trail.

So I must forget my dreaming
of the days that used to be,
And the cabin on the homestead;
For no more will I be free.
-- Roy Thomas Greenup

3 comments:

fcb4 said...

I must forget my dreaming?
How depressing.

I won't do it. I think a lot about this in relation to passing on my hearts desires to my boys...it's a family torch that must be passed on somehow.

FCB said...

I agree, I won't forget my dreaming, but no question the hustle and bustle of life has a way of imposing and interfering with my dreams of sitting in the forest beside a still pool, pole in one hand, cheetos in the other and the only jeering sounds are those of the mocking bird.

Anonymous said...

Bless you Fred! Just imagining sitting in a forest beside my favorite fishing hole, listening to the birds songs takes me somewhere where I can't go physically at this particular time, but in my head and in my heart, like a painting set before me that I am a part of, I can go there right now. Thank you.
Neue