Poet of the Hills
The old gray team and wagon
Moved slowly along the road
The driver merrily whistling
Atop his heavy load.
The farmyard was a-bustle
With throbbing life all round
When the farmer stopped his horses
And slighted on the ground.
When the farmer stopped his horses
And slighted on the ground.
The dogs, the geese and chickens
His wife and children too
Came crowding all about him
To find out what was new.
He told of the circus coming
To show in their little town
With animals and actors
Including Tim, the clown.
A balloon ascension also
Will be a thrill that day
And every one around there
Will come from miles away.
We find ourselves lamenting
For the kid-hood days gone by
For they seem most like the promise
Of those mansions in the sky.
