Song of the Heartland
I sit and think sometimes
my heart's in this land and town
where my home has always been.
My thoughts run down the highway
yelling at the farmers, the shopkeepers, and berry pickers
saying hey! playing guitars on Saturday nights.
There are the girls in the beauty parlor
waving and smiling, and the long Sunday walks
with the girl next door who adores me.
She with the big doe eyes blooming sweet as jasmine
wondering if Iíll ever get over being shy enough
to kiss her or she kisses me.
Neither of us has made the move but we keep hoping.
Neither of us know's the other's first name.
There are the romances at the picnics
the ladies gossip in the pie eating contest
who will win the big prize, the mayor's brother.
He's the best darn judge this side the Mason-Dixon
better still is the pig wrestling going on.
The chance to win that new TV
everybody's buying a ticket for charity
so old man Winder can have his operation.
I took my chance with the girl next door
than serenaded her at the local amateur show
made her goose pimply she said
but I never saw no bumps.
It's all laid out; the minister, the flowers, just waiting.
Her dreams, the house with the yellowing picket fence
dilapidated moon painted on the old drive-in
over looking Miller's creek pier.
Where she thinks I'll pop the question.
I probably will some day.
A train goes by on the old trestle
I sit there pondering golden rays
glistening from this town bridged in time
the present sitting in the middle between past ways
and future possibilities.
The songs sung still in different styles
same themes, they'll be places for this heartland
the bore me when.
I am this town; everything it ever was and can be,
Itís time I settled, made a family
taught my kids the songs my father sang to me
and learned in his time.
Pave the gravel roads of my memories
connect to the interstate where the Razorbacks still roam
show the American pride in the town that planted my dreams.
I'll marry that girl with the big doe eyes
if only I could remember her name.