THE FOLKS BACK HOME by Katherine Carey-Place 1878-1934

It is great out here where I am,
	There are flowers everywhere,
There’s a fragrance wafted on the breeze,
	Like a softly spoken prayer.
The grass is green and cool,
	And all the sky is blue,
With fleecy clouds a’moving,
	And the suns a’shining through

Bright birds are gaily singing,
	When first I wake from sleep,
And plainly on the salt sea air,
	I hear the billows deep.
The river like a silver sheen,
	Goes rippling by the door,
The whistles on the boats which pass,
	I hear them o’er and o’er.

The children brown and sturdy,
	Romp wild upon the sane,
There’s joy for all who care to come,
	To this enchanted land,
I love it more each day, each year,
	And worship at its shrine,
But I long to have the home folks here,
	The ones I left behind.

Seems that I ought to be content,
	Where skies are always blue,
But I’m longing for the old folks,
	I know they’re fond and true,
I want them all to taste the joys,
	I live and see each day,
Somehow when night are moonlit,
	They seem so far away.

I miss them in the golden morn,
	As I walk along the shore,
Each day, each week, each glorious hour,
	I miss them more and more.
There are other folks on earth I know,
	That loves ones leave behind,
But there’s no other folks I know,
	That’s just the same as mine.

Katherine Carey-Place 1878-1934

Copyright Roy Richard

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