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My Old Wooden Shack
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People I know stop to say, Hello and I hope that some day, I'll get electric lights and plumbing put in. But I'm too old be changing my ways! We never needed anything more, Than this shack with its weather beaten door. Though we may want the things that catalogues can bring, Empty wishes leave a wanting man sore. Oh the light from that old oil lamp, Lights the way down that well beaten path. And as memories come back from eighty years or more, I'm going to die in my old wooden shack. Got a horse when I was thirty years old. And the horse lived for thirty years more. When the lovely thing died, I hid and I cried, Where it's buried there now grows a rose. With the wood we hauled off those hills. And traded for cash at the mills, We bought all our needs and the animal feeds, And there's wood left standing there still. Oh the light from that old oil lamp, Lights the way down that well beaten path. And as memories come back from eighty years or more,


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