A Poor Man’s Gold Mac Davis

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