Work Boots by the Door

That's right.
Work boots by the door, your love gives me more.
Work boots by the door, I come home to you once more.
Come on home.
You set the table with the blue rim plates,
Put a clean cotton shirt on the chair.
You never counted the miles on my shoulders,
You only smiled when I got there.
The radio dial found a Sunday hymn,
Though it was Friday night in town.
I washed the hard week from my hands and felt your quiet mercy settle down.