From the top of Baby Mountain
I can see the countryside,
There’s my hometown in the distance
Where my folks and friends abide.
There’s the winding road that wanders
Past the lake and up the hill,
Little Long is like a mirror
Oh! so peaceful … and so still.
How the changing years have altered
Scenes where I once played a role,
When my barefeet used to wander
To the dear old swimmin’ hole.
Where the meadow met the willows
There’s a row of houses now,
And a modern village rises
Where the farmer used the plow.
As I stand on Baby Mountain,
Dreaming of the used to be,
I keep thinking of old playmates
Who had grown so dear to me.
Oh! the wiener roasts, and picnics,
When we used to hike from town;
And what fun we had in winter
Climbing up … and sliding down.
Other folks may own this “mountain,”
But in dreams it still is mine.
I will always come back to it,
And it will be my shrine.