Gentle On My Mind

John Hartford: Gentle on My Mind


it's knowing that your door is always open and your path is free to walk that makes me tend to leave my sleeping bag rolled up and stashed behind your couch and it's knowing i'm not shackled by forgotten words and bonds or the ink stains that have dried upon some line that keeps you in the backroads by the rivers of my memory that keeps you ever gentle on my mind

it's not clinging to the rocks and ivy planted on their columns now that bind me or something that somebody said because they thought we fit together walking it's just knowing that the world will not be cursing or forgiving when i walk along some railroad track and find that you're moving on the backroads by the rivers of my memory and for hours you're just gentle on my mind

though the wheat fields and the clothes lines and the junkyards and the highways come between us and some other woman crying to her mother 'cause she turned and i was gone i still might run in silence tears of joy might stain my face and the summer sun might burn me 'til i'm blind but not to where i cannot see you walking on the backroads by the rivers flowing gentle on my mind

i dip my cup of soup back from the gurgling crackling cauldron in some trainyard my beard a roughening coal pile and a dirty hat pulled low across my face through cupped hands around a tin can i pretend to hold you to my breast and find that you're waving from the backroads by the rivers of my memory ever smiling ever gentle on my mind

--john hartford