From the recording Harvest
(c) John R Pollard
John Raymond Pollard – voice, acoustic guitar
Alexander Rea – percussion
Michael Gilboe – keyboards
Mike McGinnis – horns
Off in the distance I hear the parade.
It's autumn; it's Sunday. We end the decade.
Squirrels are climbing; they play in the trees--
shaking chestnuts that fall to the street.
They call my house ancient. Who lived here before?
The city was young then, the Civil War
was still far from over. Walls they are thick.
How solid the mortar; how heavy the brick.
I hear this tune: we'll harvest soon.
I live in the city with plenty of friends.
We care for each other. We often spend
Our spare time together with talk over tea.
We share of our lives that have been and will be.
We started a garden together last spring.
The day that we planted I heard my heart sing
of love binding labor, parsley and peas,
shallots and sorrel, and blossoms on trees.
I sing this tune: we'll harvest soon.
With soil and sunlight, with our caring deeds,
plants in our garden reach maturity.
Like roots in our garden, like outreaching vines,
our love has grown deeper. Our lives intertwine.
I feel this tune: we'll harvest soon.