Composed, performed, produced by Bob Forbes.
Lyrics
Kids on their bikes, chasing summer and sun,
No such thing as too much fun.
Morning breaks slow on the land,
Porch swing creaks, as does the fan.
Magnolia scent with the coffees gone cold,
This street keeps alive like a story untold.
Down on Sweet Willow Way, where the maples bend low,
I remember your footprints where the river used to slow.
Winds carry laughter, and they call out your name,
Like a ghost on the hillside, mimicking the same.
Sweet Willow Way, won't you let me stay?
Locked in the hush where the winds weeps gray.
Old church bell rings, in sequence up on high,
Wooden floor brushes when your dress swirls by.
Kids in the barn play in the hay looking out the loft,
As the livestock below moves ever so soft.
Now the porch lights dim as the day draws down,
Not a task left to do, or chore to be found.
Down on Sweet Willow Way, where the maples bend low,
I remember your footprints where the river used to slow.
Winds carry laughter, and they call out your name,
Like a ghost on the hillside, mimicking the same.
Sweet Willow Way, won't you let me stay?
Locked in the hush where the winds weeps gray.
Kids on their bikes, chasing summer and sun,
No such thing as too much fun.
Morning breaks slow on the land,
Porch swing creaks, as does the fan.
Evening folds gently on Sweet Willow Way,
I chant your memory until it learns how to stay.
Porch light winks out, and the night hums its tune,
I'll be here tomorrow beneath the watchful morning sun
On Sweet Willow Way.
Copyright 2025, Bob Forbes