Family Place

Down highway forty-nine,

Across 1552, over an old country creek,

There's a windy crooked road,

To the right of Reynold's Creek,

Passed barns, with horses and fields of hay,

Where tobacco grows, and dogs and children play,

It Snakes gently toward a house like an "A,"

towards a red roofed barn still lined with hay,

Finally to a house where our family tree started,

A family of people generous and good hearted,

It's limbs trickled down and branched out,

Aunts, Uncles, and cousins,

and it just kept growing by the dozen and dozens.

So if you are ever in Casey come out my way,

Visit the place that's home for me to this day.