Unacquainted Longings

For each quaint village this old highway passes through.
There is a sweet homesickness for a place I never knew.
I long to stop and chat with old friends in that tiny cafe.
When I walk in, hows the family, the waitress would say.

 The old farmer at that table is more than likely some of my kin.
While the cop at the counter remembers my pa, way back when.
As I leave town I pass my little house grandpa built back in 32.
Homesick for a place I never lived, and for people I never knew.

I turn on the radio to remember the sweet sounds of big band.
I dream of a time when to be a soldier was thought to be grand
War news and FDR over the radio filled far more innocent air
Darling love me tonight, Europe calls, tomorrow I'll be there.

O those beautiful bygone days when the sun always seemed to shine
I never saw them, But remember the weather and women were sublime.
In my smart uniform in this quaint little village I drove my Nash around.
My dreams provide the pictures, Benny Goodman provides the sound.

There are no commercials playing on my Toyota's satellite radio.
I turn down the street to my high rise apartment. It's not far to go.
The big city is not so bad., except for the cold and driving rain.
I prefer my quaint village in uniform and in the 1940s to remain.

                       Wesley Jones