Orange Gate

I remember many years ago Way back when I was a child Grandpa’s barnyard was a place Where life was so sweet, so mild It was a place I could be myself I didn’t ever have to pretend To feel something I didn’t feel It was a world of a country blend I could sit upon a hay bale A piece of straw between my lips Just me and the cows and God Forgetting life with its turns and dips The windmill with it’s whiring sound It was the old style, rough and crude But I loved the look and sound of it And the ground on which it stood Ah yes, I’d go back in just a minute There would truly be no debate The only thing that has changed today Is a brand new shiny orange gate!