Maybe it is the grass beneath my feet,
Still wet in this early morn,
That keeps my heart at this low beat,
As it dampens my feet in these shoes that are long since worn.
A would be ride passes me by,
But I do not dwell on what might have been,
The hour of labour will soon be nigh,
Of which to go I am not keen.
Years of toiling have passed me by,
And yet I am no further away,
From the worries that bring a tear to my eye,
As I struggle through day by day.
The morning air brings a melancholy mood,
As I continue towards the place I don't want to go,
Tired and alone I can do nothing but brood,
Thinking of you and how much I loved you so.
Is it fair that you are gone?
Gone on with your life as I struggle here alone,
Without you and your gentle soul to help me carry on,
I fear my heart may become hard as stone.