Voices

Be strong and carry on
Cross the thresholds of a dozen more years
Dragging, dragging along this song
The whitetails and whippoorwills
Have their heart set on seeing thee pass through the door a hundred more
On your way to me, to me
On your way to me
Perk up your fingers in laying traps
The hares would hate to find you there
And not crossing the floor of another year
When the cold thumps your back

On the way in and on your front on the way out
The week grows thin, but your woman stout
Cry hurree, hurree, hurree
For the sun sets fast on the busy hands of a man that hefts through most of life’s plans
What to do but greet the grey day with the lemon of your smile
What to do, what to do
But greet the day
With the fingers bandaged through