I'll grow old with the scent of campfire, tattooed within my skin,
with paths and trails mapped upon my feet,
and a love for Jesus deep within.
I'll turn gray with rays of sunshine weaved within my hair,
with reflected water in my eyes,
and recall the anticipated breakfasts when inhaling morning air.
I'll grow hard of hearing, letting my ears remind themselves of guitars at dusk,
with stars grasped in outstretched hands,
and a summer family full of trust.
My hear will beat with those I'm connected to,
from summers I spent there,
'til once again he calls us home, and makes us all brand new.
