Poor man's gold

It's the feeling I get looking down at my brand new baby,
Holding on to Daddy's thumb just as tightly as he can hold
And it's hearing people say he looks alot like his daddy,
These things are a poor man's gold.

It's the twinkle in the eyes of the gray haired old man we call Grandpa,
Telling tales to the kids that get taller every time they're told
And it's knowing that for awhile he's no longer lonely,
These things are a poor man's gold.

It's the smell of honeysuckle in the springtime,
It's the silence of a freshly fallen snow
It's the sound of children laughing in the sunshine,
It's a crisp Autumn night with a million stars all aglow.

It's the sweet, sleepy sound of your warm and gentle breathing,
As you cling to me in the night to keep away the cold
And it's the softness of your body there in the darkness,
These things are a poor man's gold.

Honey, these precious things are a poor man's gold.