Ironwood Waltz

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Walking Medicine

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There's a girl who lives
In old Rockingham
Who lusts after all kinds of waltzes
She waltz through the rain on sycamore Sundays
She waltz through the troubles of man
Through the embers and ashes of poplar leaf pollen
Neath the strong lovin' branches of the ironwoods frame
She waltz through the fields of July fire
And all through
The wild scent of hay
She waltz, she waltz, through the fields of her father
Lawfully laboring and romancin'
She waltz, she waltz, through toil and triumph
Keeping in time just the same
She raises up children on faith and good promise
Leavens the daily bread of descent
She waltzes with baskets of wood and well water
With never a woe in her step
Through the years she's a waltzing
Tasting blessings and heart-ache
The jams of wild berries
The bitter tonics of loss
Sweat on her brow from the toils of labor
With never a trace of regret
She waltz, she waltz, through the fields of her father
Watching the skylight at sundown
She waltz, she waltz, with a child on her bosom
Rendering the blessings of man
This old world she's a troubled
With populous peoples
Starving the fields of their grains
There's daggers and arrows
And quills and fine needles
To pierce hearts
In various ways
Lest the constancy of seasons should halt in their rhythm
Lest the winds should always subside
Man will yet suffer, but joy shall not perish
The oceans, they waltz with the tides
We waltz, we waltz, through the fields of our fathers
Following old ways best we can
We waltz we waltz, for life's joy and life's sorrow
Sometimes they're a one in the same
Sometimes they're a one in the same
Sometimes they're a one in the same

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