The happiest nights
I ever know
Are those when I’ve
No place to go,
And the missus says
When the day is through:
‘To-night we haven’t
A thing to do.’
Oh, the joy of it,
And the peace untold
Of sitting 'round
In my slippers old,
With my pipe and book
In my easy chair,
Knowing I needn’t
Go anywhere.
Needn’t hurry
My evening meal
Nor force the smiles
That I do not feel,
But can grab a book
From a near-by shelf,
And drop all sham
And be myself.
Oh, the charm of it
And the comfort rare;
Nothing on earth
With it can compare;
And I’m sorry for him
Who doesn’t know
The joy of having
No place to go.
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