Worn Hands on the Porch

My grandfather left me

his favorite drawknife

With the hickory handle worn down by his hand

He said a sharp edge makes a way through a hard life

And the slow-growing timber will hold up the land

Old neighbor Davis came over last Sunday

To borrow the post-hole diggers again

I told him to keep 'em,

we'll finish on Monday

We don't count the favors we pass to a friend

And we sway with the wind on the porch in the evening

While the shadows grow long on the old barn door

Nothing is lost that is worth the keeping

If you leave it right there on the dusty floor (mm-hmmm)

The soil is heavy,

the winters are longer

But the roots of the oak tree

are running deep

It's the sharing of weight that makes a man stronger

Not the harvest of gold that he tries to keep

Just a sharp edge

And a borrowed tool...