The Old Woods Road

When I was a lad,
only half grown,
my dad would take me fishing,
out that old woods road.
How I loved our fellowship,
and my dad's smile,
as we stopped to rest,
after we walked,
what seemed two miles.
We sat and rested,
listened to the birds sing;
with the sun beaming down,
and a gentle breeze,
blowing through the pines,
O what a beautiful sound.
Now these old bones,
are seventy years old,
and the bushes have over grown,
and it is hard to find,
that old woods road;
But that old woods road is there,
 as long as I can think,
 and rem-anise of a stream,
where I fished,
 and had a cool drink.