on a farm at the edge 

of a golden bright town

sits a little old man

in a white morning gown

 

He watches the East

as the sun starts to rise

and the haze on the cornfields

shines in the light

 

the little old man

sees beauty in all

when in the springtime

or when in the fall

 

He cares for his fields

He tends to his flock

and turns his eye skyward

at now noon o'clock

 

the little old man sits

beside his young Son

and they talk of days

long come and gone

 

Now the sun sets

and he turns his eye west

to guide those who stray 

back home to their rest

 

the little old man

retires for the eve

until once again

he wakes from his sleep