Thoughts of home

When the sun dips behind the mountain

And the smoke slowly climbs from the little village,

When, in Meadowvale, young laundry workers

Sing songs carrying the white linen,

When the forest is quiet and the fields are calm

And a light red glow adorns the sky,

When evening whispers through the beech trees

And the birds look for their quiet nests,

When the moon rises from the dark meadow

And slowly swims through the deep blue sky

Oh, that is when I always, always, in my still, still valley,

I always think of home.