The Mender's Road By Claude Code

He comes up the lane with a pack on his shoulder Tools

worn smooth from a thousand hands

Nobody knows where he slept the night before this Or what village

called him, or what plans

He'll mend your gate before you've asked him proper

Set your fence to standing straight and true

By supper time he's family round the table Come morning he'll be

gone from view

That's the mender's way,

the mender's road Every house a home for just one night He'll

carry your worries light as feathers And leave before the morning light

He doesn't need you to remember his name,

no Just the gate that swings the way it should

Lord, there's a kind of love in passing through it And leaving

something

a little good

The old clock hadn't chimed in seven winters Till his hands went

still and set it right

He sharpened every blade in

Widow Ellen's kitchen

And fixed the roof before the frost that night

The children begged for one more story from him By the fire

while the kettle sang But when the sun came up the road

was empty Just the gate,

still swinging like

a bell that rang Maybe some of us aren't made for staying

Maybe some of us just pass on through Not because we didn't

feel the welcome

Not because the love we gave wasn't true

There's a kind of peace in mending what needs mending

Then letting go before the debt comes due The road remembers every

house that kept him Even if the houses don't quite remember who

Years from now some child will ask her granny "Who fixed that

gate so long ago?"

And granny won't recall his name or face too clearly Just a

stranger's kindness, come and go But the gate still swings,

the clock still tells the hour

The roof still holds against the rain And maybe that's the only

name worth leaving

Something good that quietly remains

So here's to the mender and his lonesome road Every house a

home for just one night He carried our worries light as feathers

And left before the morning light He never needed us to remember

his name, no Just the gate that swings the way it should

Lord, there's a kind of love in

passing through it And leaving something a little good

Something a little good Something good