Recorded by : Grandpa Jones; Pam Linton;
Cliff Waldron; Billy Walker.
By the grave site of this near forgotten man
On this cold November morning here I stand
Thinking of the friends he lost for the love of gold
This story through the years has often been told
Falling leaves that lie scattered on the ground,
The birds and flowers that were here cannot be found.
All the friends that he once knew are not around.
They're all scattered like the leaves upon the ground.
Some folks drift along through life and never thrill,
To the feeling that a good deed brings until,
It's too late and they are ready to lie down,
There beneath the leaves that's scattered on the ground.
Lord, let my eyes see every need of every man,
Make me stop and always lend a helping hand,
Then when I'm laid beneath that little grassy mound,
There'll be more friends around than leaves upon the ground.
To your grave there's no use taking any gold,
You cannot use it when it's time for hands to fold,
When you leave this earth for a better home someday,
The only thing you'll take is what you gave away.
(Contributed by duke4172 - August 2005)