Fresh Honey

near the northern rocks she planted roots
mud filled the soles of her rubber boots
fresh was the air,
brown was her hair
back then

generations changed, the peaches grew
humble wishes partially came true
one rocking chair
one silent prayer
back then

Fresh honey from the bee hive
it used to be a good thing to be alive
Fresh honey from the bee hive
it used to be a good thing

I remember when she came to say
she's getting near her expiration day
white was her hair
down was the stare
back then

Fresh honey
from the bee hive
it used to be a good thing
to be alive
Fresh honey from the bee hive
it used to be a good thing

when the northern house was sold
she cried "I never planned for myself to grow so old.
I thought I'd finish my life here