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