No Graces
This morning the snow fell, the sky was a silver blade. I slept with no
graces in the Snake River columbines. I sat up and counted the snowflakes
a-showering. Woke from a bad dream and fell into another one. If I could
fly me away like the wild birds down south, I'd sail off to Mexico.
Because this morning the snow fell, the sky was a silver blade. You left
me headaching in the bright mountain sunshine. The long and the short of
this life comes to me, the way the frost takes the columbines with rhyming
and reason. It's a long way to Cour D'Alene and it's good to feel free.
Guess there must be something waiting a ways off for you and me.