January 17, 2021
I have fond mem’ries of my past,
Those small-town roots I pray will last.
Those piney woods gave me a start.
East Texas lingers in my heart.
We used to hang out on the square,
A gentle peace hung in the air.
Men tip their hat and ladies smile,
Invite you in to stay a while.
The folks reach out to lend a hand,
Lift others up and help them stand.
If someone’s hungry they are fed,
There’s always beans with sweet cornbread.
It’s likely much the same today,
That heart of gold won’t fade away.
I’m still a small-town boy inside.
Those pine tree roots have never died.