(Linde)
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January, back in '55, we rode a Greyhound bus through the Georgia midnight.
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Grandpa was sleeping and the winter sky was clear.
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We hit a bump and his head jerked back a little and he mumbled something,
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he woke up smiling, but his eyes were bright with tears.
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He said, "I dreamed I was back on the farm,
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20 years have passed, boy, the memory still warms me. Wildflowers in a mason jar"
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He told me those old stories 'bout that one-room cabin in Kentucky.
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The smell of the rain and the warm earth in his hands.
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He slowly turned and stared outside, his face was mirrored in the window,
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and his reflection flew across the moonlit land.
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And he dreamed he was back on the farm.
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Tilts his head and listens to the early sound of morning, wildflowers in a mason jar.
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An old man and an eight-year-old boy rolling down that midnight highway,
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Kentucky memories from a winter Georgia night.
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I started drifting off and Grandpa tucked his coat around me,
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I think I tried to smile as I slowly closed my eyes.
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And I dreamed I was with him on the farm.
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Grandpa, I can hear the evening wind out in the corn, wildflowers in a mason jar,
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wildflowers in a mason jar, wildflowers in a mason jar, and the bus rolled through the night.
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Wild Flowers In A Mason Jar
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| John Denver |
