The Golden Age

[Verse 1] Sun comes through the cottage pane Fire is lit against the rain My good wife sings a low refrain And my loom is strung up true. [Verse 2] The oaken beam, the heddles rise A flash of thread before my eyes The shuttle sings, the shuttle flies Beneath my hands and boots of leather. [Chorus] Oh, this is a golden age For a man who works his trade A king upon a wooden throne With a skill that's all his own. [Verse 3] No factory bell to break the day No master calls to dock my pay I set my price, I find my way By the light of sun and candle. [Verse 4] This is good cloth, strong and plain It'll shield a man from wind and rain From field to town, they speak my name When they feel the quality in it. [Chorus] Oh, this is a golden age For a man who works his trade A king upon a wooden throne With a skill that's all his own. [Verse 5] My son will learn the selfsame skill His loom will sit upon this hill The weaver's craft will be here still Long after I am earth and bone. [Outro] A king upon a wooden throne With a skill that's all his own. © 2026 The Shady River Bard. All rights reserved.