There’s a little house,
Not too far out of town,
Where I’ll go when I leave this place,
You’ll always find a log fire burning there,
And a light in the window to find your way,
When you eventually stumble over the top of the ridge.
You can sit among friends,
By then you’ll be deserving of a seat in the warmth,
You’ll have done your bit,
Struggled bravely along the path,
You’ll have cried your tears,
And fought your battles,
So come rest a while,
We’ll be waiting.
bobby stevenson 2017