However rare true love may be, it is less so than true friendship.
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Wild Flowers in a Mason Jar
January back in '55 we rode a Greyhound bus through the Georgia midnight
Grandpa was sleeping and the winter sky was clear
We hit a bump and his head jerked back a little and he mumbled something
He woke up smiling but his eyes were bright with tears he said...
I dreamed I was back on the farm
Twenty years have passed boy
But the memory still warms me
Wild flowers in a mason jar
He told me those old stories about that one room cabin in Kentucky
The smell of rain and the feel of the warm earth in his hands
He slowly turned and stared outside
His face was mirrored in the window
And his reflection flew across the moonlit land
And he dreamed he was back on the farm
He tilts his head and listens to the early sounds of morning
Wild flowers in a mason jar
An old man and an eight year old boy
Rolling down that midnight highway
Warm Kentucky memories from a winter Georgia night
I started drifting off and Grandpa tucked his coat around me
I think I tried to smile as I slowly closed my eyes
And I dreamed I was with him on the farm
Grandpa, I can hear the evening wind out in the corn
Wild flowers in a mason jar and the bus rolling through the night