There are certain dreams I’d cherish that I’d like to see come true.
There are things I would accomplish ere my working time is through.
But the task my heart is set on is to guide a little lad.
To make myself successful as that little fellow’s dad.
It’s the one job that I dream of; it’s the task I think of most.
For if I fail that little fellow, I have nothing else to boast.
For the wealth and fame I’d gather, all my fortune would be sad,
If I fail to be successful as that little fellow’s dad.
I may never be as clever as my neighbor down the street.
I may never be as wealthy as some other men I meet.
But if he who follows after shall be manly, I’ll be glad,
For I’ll know I’ve been successful as that little fellow’s dad.
~ by David Buttram
These are memories of my life,
Points of pleasure, scars of strife.
Some from giving, and some from need.
None from hating, and none from greed.
When heroes fall, or fathers cry,
When a tear appears in a mother's eye,
The soulful keening of the Western Wind,
For the loss of a precious friend.
Like a seed that's never sown,
Like a hermit living all alone,
Like a house that's never home,
More's the loss of a love unknown.
I'm like a note in a bottle on the sea,
A question mark in a mystery,
A rambling soul in eternity,
Always wandering but never free.
These are memories of my life,
Points of pleasure, scars of strife.
Like a mule packs a heavy load,
I sing a song of the open road.
When heroes fall, or fathers cry,
When a tear appears in a mother's eye,
The soulful keening of the Western Wind,
For the loss of a precious friend.
Like a baby yearns for a warm embrace,
I search the world for a special place.
Like a gentle rain on a summer's day.
The healthy feeling of a hearty laugh.
The secrets of the less chosen path.
Route 66 in a Chevrolet,
Or a box car view of the USA.
These are memories of my life,
Born from darkness, gleaned from light.
They cost me dearly yet they all were free,
Like the setting sun on a mountain seat.
When heroes fall, or fathers cry,
When a tear appears in a mother's eye,
The soulful keening of the Western Wind,
For the loss of a precious friend.
And when my time has all been spent,
Sing for me no sad lament.
I'm like a thought that's here and gone,
And like the breeze, I'm moving on.
These are memories of my life,
Clouds of darkness and beams of light.
They touched me dearly and they all were free.
Just like the love you shared with me.
When heroes fall, or fathers cry,
When a tear appears in a mother's eye,
The soulful keening of the Western Wind,
For the loss of a precious friend.
~by Jim Hinde
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