My best advice has come to this:
Work a day hard daily,
And when it’s time
Lay thy tools
Down for warmth of a tea.
Enjoy thy work,
Enjoy thy toil,
Enjoy each sliver come your way,
Enjoy as troubles
Make their mark
Upon your furrowed brow.
For in pursuit
Of solving mysteries
A day of work’s been done.
I go to bed late and forget to leave the evening candle burning
It sits beside my machete that waits for another attack
That ripped my great grandmother from her life
These Wild Men came, ignoring her fire
Her embers burned yet they stole with little regard
Fair play existed when hands were harder
When banks weren’t lawmakers
Lawless was irrelevant to those who upheld order
Gunslingers or good singers or Moonshiners all made their way
Through the land of hard work, good cooking, and square dances
And my machete sits sharp
My mountain comes into my cove
Of which I heavily tread
For no one knows that which I bare
No one knows my comst soul
Yet even in the deepest hour
My glow is never failed
My strongest tie can never loose
Muscles taught against the threat.
Long shall each heavy stride
Call thy legs at thou lookout
This brow upon my strengthened neck
Carries an outlook built on sweat
And living within this absolute
Blisters each creak I’ve ever known
That rests when day’s toil’s been had
When Sun bids the sky adieu.
There used to be a sign
Along the Old Wagon Road that read:
“Past here is what’s ahead
Gone is what’s behind
Don’t turn back for anything
Or the sight will leave you blind.”
Seventeen men were said
To have taken ill advice
Whos remains are rumored laid
Ten paces from that sign.
But if you keep towards the road,
Visions that brought you forth
The Old Wagon Road will help
The slope and yours align.
Not many have ever failed here,
Though not many have dared come
But many’ an hour still to spend
Upon the Old Wagon Road.