My Son take this backpack for this path is never ending,
And I grow weak and tired.
In it you will find all my hopes and dreams,
I could not use them for myself.
Over there is an old brush harbor,
I'll rest there for a moment.
If I not soon rejoin,
We'll meet at some larger way.
There we will once again,
Laugh at the chasing squirrels.
Marvel at blue skies,
Sparkling rivers and lakes.
If rain, thunder and lighting fright,
Maybe little hands you will hold,
Like I did so many years ago.
Till then Carrie these,
All my hopes and dreams.
Sep 24, 2015
Sep 24, 2015 at 11:25 AM UTC
My Son take this backpack for this path is never ending,
And I grow weak and tired.
In it you will find all my hopes and dreams,
I could not use them for myself.
Over there is an old brush harbor,
I'll rest there for a moment.
If I not soon rejoin,
We'll meet at some larger way.
There we will once again,
Laugh at the chasing squirrels.
Marvel at blue skies,
Sparkling rivers and lakes.
If rain, thunder and lighting fright,
Maybe little hands you will hold,
Like I did so many years ago.
Till then Carrie these,
All my hopes and dreams.
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