It Is Not Hard To Imagine

It is not hard to imagine as some are known to say
In his flights of fancy the places he grew up in he visits every day
Above the silent valley a musical speck in the sky
The small brown lark is carolling as towards the clouds he does fly
The great beauty of Nature he first grew to enjoy
In Brittany far north of this Land where he lived as a boy
Now in his early fifties his hair is silver gray
Yet in fancy home fields from him are not far away
Though the past is long behind him in the forever gone
Of where he grew into manhood the memories living on
The wanderlust was in him he left on a balmy day
Upon his great life's journey in the pleasant month of May
The wander bug was in him some of the bigger World he see
The last time he saw the home fields was in nineteen eighty three.