Outside the Nashville city limits

a friend and I did drive,

on a day in early winter

I was glad to be alive.

We went to see some friends of his

who lived upon a farm.

Strange and gentle country folk

who would wish nobody harm.

Fresh-cut sixty acres,

eight cows in the barn.

But the thing that I remember

on that cold day in December

was that my eyes they did brim over

as we talked.



In the slowest drawl I had ever heard

the man said "Come with me

if y'all wanna see the prettiest place

in all of Tennesee."

He poured us each a glass of wine

and a-walking we did go,

along fallen leaves and crackling ice

where a tiny brook did flow.

He knew every inch of the land

and Lord he loved it so.

But the thing that I remember

on that cold day in December

was that my eyes were brimming over

as we walked.



He set my down upon a stone

beside a running spring.

He talked in a voice so soft and clear

like the waters I heard sing.

He said "We searched quite a time

for a place to call our own.

There was just me and Mary John

and now I guess we're home."

I looked at the ground and wondered

how many years they each had roamed.

And Lord I do remember

on that day in late December

how my eyes kept brimming over

as we talked.

As we walked.



And standing there with outstretched arms

he said to me "You know,

I can't wait till the heavy storms

cover the ground with snow,

and there on the pond the watercress

is all that don't turn white.

When the sun is high you squint your eyes

and look at the hills so bright."

And nodding his head my friend said,

"And it seems like overnight

that the leaves come out so tender

at the turning of the winter..."

I thought the skies they would brim over

as we talked