Down the lane of memory
Where we see the scenes of childhood
Just the way they used to be.
When we used to romp, barefooted,
Through the clover fields in June;
When the busy bees were buzzin’
An’ we whistled some old tune,
An’ went ridin’ on a load of hay
Down a bumpy country road,
Just a-thrillin to the bouncin’
An the swayin’ of the load.
Our hearts will always keep the dreams
That we found in the old hay loft
When we would climb to the highest beams,
An’ jump on the hay…so soft.
An’ how about those twilight hours
When we drove the cattle home
Down shadowed pathways, lined with flowers,
Our bare feet use to roam.
An’ there was that old fishin’ hole
Where willows used to bend;
Where we would tangle up our lines,
An’ play fer hours on end.
When we heard our voices echo
Through the quaint old covered bridge,
When we used to gather walnuts
’Neath the trees that crowned the ridge.
Oh! the treasured wealth of childhood
That we carried on our backs;
Yes, those walnuts were like nuggets
In those stained old gunny sacks.
We’d go home an’ git a ladder,
An’ then gravity defy,
Climbin’ up to the old barn roof
An’ spreadin’ ’em out to dry.
Wouldn’t it be fun to wander back
To those old scenes a again
Where we once raised our hands in school,
All black with walnut stain.
Oh! it’s great to be a Hoosier
For no matter where we roam
We have memories to guide us
Down old paths that lead back home.