The old farm dog waits

The old farm dog waits,

By the front farm red gates,

The family are in town.

Friday’s a run,

When the week is all done,

And the fields are all brown.

But out in the quiet, the old boy sits still,

Watching the car lights, hoping until, 

Lights turn into the gates,

Where the old farm dog waits. 

The old farm dog longs, 

For the sound of the songs, 

And the touch of a hand.

They’ll unload the car,

And the evening star,

Shines out on the land.

But there in the shadow, he looks in the dark,

Then he hears the family, drive up and park,

Near the front farm red gates,

Where the old farm dog waits.