Old Memories Die Hard

The soughing of the wind in the trees in the rain
And the gurgling of water in the storm-water drain
And the raindrops that race on down the window pane
Reminds me of my old home by the hill I am back there again.

The river bank high in the rushy field flow
And I hear the harsh caws of the silver back crow
On this wet and wintery January day
The past from us never does seem far away.

Though between us and the Homeland many miles of land and sea
The past seems embedded in the memory
And for as long as we live old memories we retain
In the cells of the brain they do live and remain.

The soughing of the wind and the rain drizzling down
Takes us to the old fields by the old country town
Old memories die hard as some are known to say
But the home fields from us never seem far away.