mending fences.

words & music by John McCutcheon 

Mending fences once again
Where posts stand frail and rotten
I walk the wire, hammer-handed
Lest they be forgotten
All alone along the rim
Of all I know as mine
From those without, for those within
I stretch this borderline

The simple order of these days
The fields that know their places
The work that takes me to their sides
In steady, measured paces
The hand of time has touched it all
And the seasons’ angry blow
All the labor of past years
Is to ruin and rust laid low

I saw the picture from the moon:
It was the earth in beauty risin’
No fencelines marked her face
Only endless, blue horizon

I’m thinking as I head back in,
My collar cocked and high,
That fences end where they begin
Balanced ‘tween the earth and sky
All that keeps me where I am
That stirs this blood and bone
Is tethered by these three thin lines
That trace the fields of home

©1994 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP) 


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