Folk

They’re crawlin’ out the woodwork

Them folks with old guitars

Those broken hearted dreamers

Grown beneath the stripes and stars

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With their small recorded words

They stand up and proclaim

A lesson of acceptance

Without thought for wealth or fame

Content to die in anonymity

They say, “now stand with me.”

Crying to the silent heavens

“When, oh when will we be free?”

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They’re crawlin’ out the woodwork

Them folks with old guitars

Those broken hearted dreamers

Grown beneath the stripes and stars

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By talkin’ without speakin‘

To an audience that ain’t listenin’

Hearin’ them while missin’

Each clever verse and turn of phrase

They’re sayin’ “I ain’t no genius.

No, sir, naw that ain’t me. I’m only a person with a voice

And the bell it tolls for thee.”

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They’re crawlin’ out the woodwork

Them folks with old guitars

Those broken hearted dreamers

Grown beneath the stripes and stars

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I heard it said once

By a wise man long ago

That the death knell be a ringin’

When the country folk start singin’

'bout how far is left to go.

See the path is long and deadly

And by the roadside lie the graves

Of the heroes who did not abandon

Hope before they lay

Down in the valley where the bless-ed dead do rest

The lucky few who died before

We faced our toughest test

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They’re crawlin’ out the woodwork

Them folks with old guitars

Those broken hearted dreamers

Who grew beneath the stripes and stars

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This poem is dedicated to my dad, who taught me to love the words of people who speak with compassion from the heart