The winter wind was knocking at the door,
But mother kept the fire burning bright.
She walked upon the cold and wooden floor,
To make sure I was wrapped against the night.
She hid her weariness behind a smile,
And gave me all the warmth she had to give;
She walked a lonely and a quiet mile,
So in the gentle sunshine I could live.
My father bore the burden of the sky,
His hands were roughened by the turning earth.
He watched the golden summer pass him by,
And poured his steady strength into my worth.
He stood like timber, rooted in the storm,
A quiet king who never wore a crown.
He kept my fragile dreams secure and warm,
And never let the heavy world come down.
They gave the best of what they used to be,
Their fleeting youth, the spring they left behind.
They built a road of stone to set me free,
The truest act of love of humankind.
For every forward step I take today,
Is paved by all the dreams they chose to lose.
They walked barefoot through the cold and clay,
So I could walk the world in silken shoes.