That Familar Road

That Familiar Road

Down that old familiar road,

Where changes seldom come;

Only the transfer of the seasons

And the setting of the sun.

Back in old Stephen’s County,

On those same asphalt roads,

A pumper’s truck still rolling,

Carrying that same old load.

With flat lands full of grasses,

And the rolling hills with trees;

The blackjack and the cedar,

As far as the eye can see.

Down that old familiar road,

Where the memories were born;

In the garden I see papa,

With his overalls so worn.

And mom is a calling,

Come in it’s supper time;

Down that old familiar road,

I’ve been there many time.

Larry Sparks