From the recording Live at the Corbin Theater
I was pulling weeds in my garden
the first cool dry weekend in Spring.
Mrs. Rice next door was a friend of my father’s.
I asked her how her garden had been.
(She said) I have four hundred, eighteen flowers
as yellow as new sunshine.
She turned to her front yard. I clapped and she bowed.
Now her dandelion garden’s on my mind.
She made me stop the car once on Tenth Street.
“That graffiti on the underpass is rare.”
That painter’s hand turned her garage into canvas.
I admit that her confusion had some flair.
Her walnut trees grow into her foundation.
I asked her, “Don’t they make you basement leak?”
She said ,“The musty cellar brings back my childhood.
I think about my mom. I laugh and weep.”
Ten years have passed and we’re gathered round her
She’s left us for some journey or better soil.
Four hundred, eighteen weeds fill this church with sunshine.
I’m gonna look for beauty and not for toil.
(Repeat last line.)
Words And Music By David B. Hakan 6-20-93
©1993 All Rights Reserved