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The windows are shuttered, the grasses are high,
No smoke from the chimney curls up to the sky;
The fences are bending, now I only stare
At my little old house in need of repair.
The scenery is pretty, the trees they are grand,
If you fish in the river, then you'll understand;
The clothesline swings high by the house in the wind,
The children are gone now and no one within.
I sit by the river and think of the past,
Knowing a few years may be my last;
So, sadness departs and peace fills my soul,
For the little old homestead and I have grown old.
I sit on the doorstep my thoughts wander through
The passing of time and the days that I knew;
And through the soft stillness comes a song of a bird,
The echoes of sweetness I've so often heard.
Now, the years they have passed so quickly you see,
Nobody knows what this all means to me;
The memories are warm and the facts they are cold,
That you and your homestead will one day grow old.
