The Quaint Little Village Where I've Made A Home

By Joe Gorman, printed in the Windham County Transcript, June 29, 1944

There's a quaint little village where I've made a home,

A place that I left many years past to roam,

And tho' I've roamed afar north, south, east and west,

Still somehow my spirit could never find rest.

Now like a lost sheep I've returned to the fold

To find a real welcome from my friends of old,

And I'll know in future I'll never more roam

From that quaint old village where I've made a home.

I've bought me a cottage right down by the stream

And through the long summer days I'll sit and dream,

By the ruined grist mill where the farmers around

Once brought in their corn and went home with it ground.

When eventide comes and the whippoorwill calls,

I'll list to the music that comes from the falls,

Where sleepy old Five Mile is churned into foam,

Near that quaint old village where I've made a home.

It's strange what the love of a home does to you,

But look upon nature to find it is true.

The foxes have holes, the birds they have nests--

But each one loves his own abiding place best,

So each year remaining to me shall be spent

As far as I'm able in peace and content

And one thing I'm sure of, I'll never more roam

From that quaint old village where I've made a home.