I dream about the childhood faith
that somehow made it clear,
a ray of hope for every child
and courage for every fear.

I’m a Post-It note on your refrigerator,
dusty, stained and curled.
I’m a freight train whistle out in the night
reminding you of home.

I dream about the childhood faith
that somehow made it clear,
when right was right and light, light,
and Heaven bent so near.