I took a long and hilly road down to memory lane,
The trees concaving in,
Acting like a roof to the animals that scurry by.

Our house hidden back behind the pines and oaks,
That is where I grew,
Where I prospered,
That tiny house is where I learned to love,  
Where I learned love,
Doesn’t last.

The pond in the back,
Seemed to croak at night,
The rooster crowing in the morning behind us,
And now I awake with nothing but silence.

I see no roof covering my head when I walk out the door,
Everything has seemed to change,
And driving one last time down that road and onto another,
The trees seemed to wave goodbye.