Branch Come Home Year August 9-19, 2007 |
My Father’s House Down by the Gut By: Loretta Corcoran |
A pile of rocks is all that’s left now My father’s house is no longer there I dry my eyes as I fondly remember That little house down by the gut.
In my father’s house, we were poor, but rich in love No TV, but music there was plenty of My mama hummed old melodies And we all sang along In my father’s house, when I was young.
Time goes by and we get older Our own children are all reared and gone I wonder now, do they fondly remember The days of long ago when they were young
In my father’s house, a smile would greet you at the door A friendly word, even strangers there was welcome for And at night time neighbors wandered in and might stay till twelve or one In my father’s house, when I was young.
Down by the gut, there was so much fun then My father’s stories still linger on Of hunting and fishing and catching the big one Everyone was a friend when we were young.
In summer time, we’d wait for the fishermen To land the fish so we could get hearts and tongues And oh how we loved to swim in the rivers Over by Pat’s meadow, we had so much fun.
Winter time is my greatest memory We’d skate on the rivers all weekend long And into the evenings we’d slide down the gut path Oh so much fun when we were young.
But time goes by, and things are changing Only memories now remain But still I here the laughter of children Like in my father’s house, when I was young
In my father’s house, we were poor but rich in love No TV, but good times there were plenty of We did the best with what we had And we sang a happy song. In my father’s house, when I was young.
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