Sunset's Frame

[Verse 1]
Valley fog hung low, like splintered wood and pine,
The last cut of the season, a memory of mine.
Sawdust settled soft on that old tractor's wheel,
Every groove a story, a purpose made of steel,
A quiet hum from the engine, a bedrock kind of sound.

[Chorus]
Against the western dust, a steel silhouette,
Grandpa's frame, a lesson I won't forget.
His plumb line heart, steady in the fading light,
Building legacies through the long, country night.

[Verse 2]
He'd say, "Boy, a good field ain't built on crooked nails,"
As the engine coughed and sputtered, telling old man tales.
The rebar of his will, held fast against the years,
Washing down the harvest with sweat, not with tears,
A steady hand upon the throttle, guiding crop and plow.

[Bridge]
Past the valley's edge, a distant whistle cried,
Like a half-struck nail, a sound the wind can't hide.
That lonely echo whispers, a truth worn smooth by time,
The hard work's foundation, truly is divine.

[Outro]
Just an iron shadow, fading with the sun,
Grandpa's blueprint, when the last day's work is done.