Wild Flowers In A Mason Jar



January back in '55 we rode a Greyhound bus through the Georgia midnightGrandpa was sleeping and the winter sky was clearWe hit a bump and his head jerked back a little and he mumbled somethingHe woke up smiling, but his eyes were bright with tearsSaid, "I dreamed I was back on the farm...20 years have passed, boy, but the memory still warms me...Wildflowers in a Mason Jar..."He told me those old stories about that one-room cabin in KentuckyThe smell of the rain and the warm earth in his handsHe slowly turned and stared outside; his face was mirrored in the windowAnd his reflection flew across the moonlit landAnd he dreamed he was back on the farmTilts his head and listens to the early sound of morningWildflowers in a Mason JarAn old man and an eight-year-old boy rolling down that midnight highwayKentucky memories from a winter Georgia nightI started drifting off and Grandpa tucked his coat around meI think I tried to smile as I slowly closed my eyesAnd I dreamed I was with him on the farm"Grandpa, I can hear the evening wind out in the corn...Wildflowers in a Mason Jar...Wildflowers in a Mason Jar...Wildflowers in a Mason Jar..."And the bus rolled through the night...