Out Of The Fire

On a gravel back-road, down deep in the Fall

So long ago, yet how well I recall

My Grandfather's green truck with the rusted-out rims

and me on the seat, 'tween my Mamma and him

How we rattled along, 'till the old Ford, it stalled

and Momma said "Jump on out, pick you a big cotton ball"

An Autumn leaf scraped its way 'cross the road

we were headed back home.

See the proud, thrusting, curve of the robin's red breast

out gathering worms to return to her nest,

the lavender haze 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

all that remains is the fine sawdust ground

still wet from the tears that fell from the eyes

of folks too far down to hang back in pride

And I am here, too, like I always was:

deep in the pain, strong in the love

still singing my prayer to Heaven above

heartfelt and true.

Once you were the dawn, the dusk, and the light

Without the dream of holding you tight

my days turned to black, I could hardly take breath

I stumbled my way thru 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.