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Your tire tracks run past the city line,
I sweep the porch where the morning glories twine.
I'm glad you're out there drawing your own line,
And I'll be rooted here in this home of mine.
I wake at dawn to feed the hens that peck,
I mend the fence with splinters on my neck.
You pack your bag and kiss me on the cheek,
Then drive away before I find the words to speak.
You send a photo of the ocean's blue,
I tape it on the fridge and think of you.
The sunset there is painted orange and gold,
While here the evening sky is gray and cold.
Your tire tracks run past the city line,
I sweep the porch where the morning glories twine.
I'm figuring out the rhythm of my day,
Without your map, I'm learning my own way.
Your tire tracks run past the city line,
I sweep the porch where the morning glories twine.
I'm glad you're out there drawing your own line,
And I'll be rooted here in this home of mine.
You send a photo of the ocean's blue,
I tape it on the fridge and think of you.
The sunset there is painted orange and gold,
While here the evening sky is gray and cold.
Your tire tracks run past the city line,
I sweep the porch where the morning glories twine.
I'm figuring out the rhythm of my day,
Without your map, I'm learning my own way.
Your tire tracks run past the city line,
I sweep the porch where the morning glories twine.
I'm glad you're out there drawing your own line,
And I'll be rooted here in this home of mine.
