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