Verse 1
Morning mist
Village air
Boots on gravel
He is there
Hop lines lifting
Wire and twine
Green light leaning
Through vine
Bees move slowly
Sunlight warm
Quiet presence
Working form
Verse 2
Oast house breathing
Brick and cone
Heat settling
Into bone
Resin drifting
Soft and sweet
Dust settling
Into heat
Village rhythm
Understood
Hands finishing
Quiet good
Chorus
He walks rows
Rows he knows
Season to season
Slowly goes
Hands in green
Light on skin
Nothing to prove
Everything within
No need for noise
No need for claim
Land keeps hold
Without name
And somewhere between
Work and sun
Lives the heart
Of a countryman
Verse 3
Picker humming
Afternoon
September holding
Summer soon
Generations
Under feet
Old time turning
Slow repeat
Nothing spoken
Nothing planned
Just the years
Inside his hands
Bridge
Time moves easy
Rows align
Small things matter
Line by line
You don’t notice
Till you stand
How a life
Becomes land
Final Chorus
He walks rows
Rows he knows
Season to season
Softly goes
Hands in green
Light on skin
Quiet outside
Quiet within
No need for noise
No need to claim
Land remembers
Without name
And long after
Days are done
Stays the trace
Of a countryman
Michael Forty