There’s a little place,
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 by 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 2013
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