Track 07 - Poor Days Rich

Track 07 – Poor Days Rich

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Rudyard Kipling had an image in one of his stories of a cobbler sitting amidst the ruins of his shop that had burned to the ground. The cobbler stooped over and picked up the same worn out tools that his father, grandfather and great grandfather had used to make shoes, and started all over again, cobbling with the same tools that he had always known. Kipling’s image inspired me to write a poem called “The Cobbler Without Shoes” and that poem inspired this song.

One time when I was in my mid-thirties, I sat up one night feeling poor, and sorry for myself.  Everything that I had worked so hard for had completely fallen apart and seemed to lay broken in front of me. When I picked up my guitar, I realized that I really was rich . . . I just didn’t have any money. So, instead of feeling sorry for myself, I wrote this song in the middle of the night, and my “down” feeling was left on the page; the “up” feeling remained; and I felt free and inspired to start building my life again, with the same “worn out” tools that I had always used. I will forever remember staying up all night and the good feeling that came from the experience of writing this tune . . . it helped me change the way that I paddle up stream

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Poor Days Rich (2:35)

 

In the early morning hours . . . when I build my dreams . . . and ivory towers . . .

I saw the things I gave my life to . . . lying broken.

And in those early morning hours . . . when my dreams were “nines” . . . instead of “bowers” . . .

I stooped to build them up again . . . with worn-out tools.

 

O I wanted to be alone . . . I was . . . feeling sorry for “me”.

I never looked to notice . . . that there was . . . no reason to be.

 

I’ve got to pick myself up and prop me forward . . . and carry no burdens that I can’t endure;

And stir up the courage to face the unknown . . . and still be “myself”.

 

O there are times (when) I need to just go back . . . and rekindle my flame;

I lose touch with those things that matter to me . . . and I know I’m to blame.

 

So, when Life is dealing “tens” . . . you wait for the “aces” and play for the wins . . .

Make a grocery-sack kite and fly it high in the wind . . . and enjoy those poor days . . . rich.

 

O I wanted to be alone . . . I was . . . feeling sorry for “me”;

I never stopped to notice . . . that there was . . . no reason to be.

 

And in the early morning hours . . . when I build my dreams . . . and ivory towers . . .

I watched the things I gave my life to . . . lying broken.

And in those early morning hours . . . when my dreams were “nines” . . . instead of “bowers” . . .

I stooped to build them up again . . . with worn-out tools . . . with warn-out tools.

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