It’s too late to live on the farm
It’s too late to go back home
Some called it a farm
I never did. It was just home
And there were chickens and sometimes ducks
A big garden to the side and a pear tree out back
I visited it and they were all gone and the space was small
When I lived there I was small and it was very big
Was it a farm? Do chickens and ducks and a garden make a farm?
Or was it a ruse?
But it’s too late to return
Even if these feet never move
I still can go forward.