The Farm
(c) April 8, 2001
Why must years move so fast
while hours grind away
who's the one to wind the clock
won't he rest for just one day
Time becomes distorted
youth comes back to view
my mind it tries to separate
thoughts of old and memories new
It seems so very long ago
on the farm I'd run and play
splashing through the ditches
making hideouts in the hay
The mysteries of the old barn
what treasures I would find
and all the mischief I'd get in
if i didn't mind
There were all the flowers
trees and garden green
can't forget the great big yard
with just a little stream
I miss my favorite maple
where I had the swing
a tire from that old pick-up
and rope I got for free
Time we shouldn't measure
Or we become too old
then we'll never loose the feel
of being young and bold
by Ricky D. McKean
(c) April 8, 2001
Why must years move so fast
while hours grind away
who's the one to wind the clock
won't he rest for just one day
Time becomes distorted
youth comes back to view
my mind it tries to separate
thoughts of old and memories new
It seems so very long ago
on the farm I'd run and play
splashing through the ditches
making hideouts in the hay
The mysteries of the old barn
what treasures I would find
and all the mischief I'd get in
if i didn't mind
There were all the flowers
trees and garden green
can't forget the great big yard
with just a little stream
I miss my favorite maple
where I had the swing
a tire from that old pick-up
and rope I got for free
Time we shouldn't measure
Or we become too old
then we'll never loose the feel
of being young and bold
by Ricky D. McKean
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