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On a gravel back road down deep in the fall,
So long ago, yet how well I recall
my Grandpa's green truck with the rusted out rims
and me on the seat 'tween my Momma and him.
How we rattled along till that old Ford it stalled.
Mama said "Jump on out, pick you a big cotton ball".
An autumn leaf scraped its way 'cross the road
as we were headin' back home.

See the proud thrusting curve of the robin's red breast
out gathering worms to return to her nest,
the lavender hue at the first light of dawn,
a woman's clear voice lilting in song,
and all the fine words our poets have said,
the sparkling dew upon the spider's silk web.
Does one matter more? Does one matter less?
Who of us can say?

The tents are rolled up, the revival's left town.
And all that remains is the fine sawdust ground
still wet with the tears that fell from the eyes
of folks too far down to hang back in pride.
And I am there too, like I always was:
deep in the pain, strong in the love;
singing my prayer to heaven above,
heartfelt and true.

Once you were the dawn, the dusk and the night.
Without the dream of holding you tight
my days turned to black, I could hardly take breath.
I stumbled my way through a fate worse than death.
But like the phoenix that rose right out of the fire
I came back too from a bed of desire,
and shook from my wings the ash from the pyre,
and headed back home.

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