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.