So you’ve come to Young’s to get away
From the things that nag and hark,
The places and paces that spoil a day
And shadowy thoughts that turn so dark.
I guess you’ve come from salty airs
By the long white sandy coast,
Where scrubby bush and headland pairs
Make sheltered bays for bobbing boats.
Or maybe your house of pretty hues
Is lost in the city’s wilderness,
Where millions of souls ache for views
Of something better than ugliness.
Then again you could be off the plains
Where many miles make up a day,
And the sky is big, your heart is big
There’s very little to get in your way.
Wherever your home, wherever your place
I’m pleased you’ve come this way,
Because whatever your ways, whatever your face
You’ll be richer when on your way.
Words are clumsy pretenders of the images of my mind.