A Poor Man's Gold

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.