Oh, stick me in the old caboose this night of wind and rain,

And let the doves of fancy loose to bill and coo again.

I want to feel the pulse of love that warmed the blood like wine;

I want to see the smile above this kind old land of mine.

So come you by your parted ways that wind the wide world through,

And make a ring around the blaze the way we used to do;

The “fountain” on the sooted crane will sing the old, old song

Of common joys in homely vein forgotten, ah, too long.

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Poetry