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He Won'T Be Going Back

When wildflowers are blooming by the babbling rill
He won't be going back to the town by the hill
To see the old fields in their wildflowers of May
He won't be going back he's been too long away
From the town he grew up in many decades ago
He feels he'd be a stranger there now perhaps none there he would know
The years have left him looking older and stiffer and gray
A shell of the man he was of a bygone day
In this far Southern Country with his ageing wife
Close to their children and grandchildren they will live out their life
Yet in his flights of fancy he hear the robin sing
In the grove by his old home in the prime of the Spring
And the white breasted dipper on a rock he bobs up and down
As he sings in the stream that flows by his Hometown.

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