A boy loves his homeland
It stays with him
Like the cradle of his soul
to his mama's
bosom
He will always be home
Soon as he crosses
that border line
The dust of the day
plays
with the soil and the
stone
Straight to the bosom
of the one
who waits in the
breezes blowing
He knows the song sung
by that
sweet country
air
A boy knows when he is home
He feels it in is his soul, dusty
from the
trail of fame he is
travelin'
Once he crosses that border
line
He is just that boy
from Illinois
A river town boy sitting
by his pines
Preparing and penning the
liquid lines
To another poem he will set to
music so sweet
He's the little boy
from the river town in
Illinois
Tired sometimes of being that
troubadour man
Returning home every time he
can
To rest in the bosom of the women
who love him
To let go the dust his soul carries
right into that river
As it flows away and is healed
When this boy is home
with the soil and the stone
His truth is
easily
revealed
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