T'was in a city where I was born, but there I never found a home. My heart had known before my past, that in a city I would not last. Could it be these feet of mine, would find the sand the place they'd pine? Alas the beach was not the place, for that my forlorn heart would race. Canopy of trees, shines filtered sun, a breathe of honeysuckle where I run, T'was a hoosier I'm meant to be, with clay soil beneath my feet. Just one acre, my little woods. But this place does suit me good. And here I'll be a hoosier best, and live my life til time to rest.