Speak to me Grandma I’m alone in my thoughts
Speak to me Grandma You’re at home with the thought...
There’s a wind blowing off the top of Divide
Through the valley of our old St. Mary
You have thrice earned the rest that you’ve got
And the cross your fingers carry to beyond...
Now, I really can’t believe that you’re gone.
Speak to me Grandma, stories blossom in you
Speak to me Grandma legend blended with truth.
And your words brushed a portrait for us
In the Valley of our old St. Mary
Your eyes were the light for us
When our bodies couldn’t carry us beyond...
Now, I really can’t believe that you’re gone.
You felt the buffalo go
You heard the stagecoach roll
You saw booming Altyn rise and fall
You rode your pony upon
Moccasin Flat at century’s dawn
The trails became roads
and the roads became old...
We listened to the stories that you told.
You wed a man from the north
Then ten fine children came forth
Alex still is your groom.
You were the center of us.
Still in our valley we trust
The vision of St. Mary
appeared upon the lake
And leaves me in this fast-closing wake.
Speak to me Grandma I’m alone in my thoughts
Speak to me Grandma You’re at home with the thought...
There’s a wind blowing off the top of Divide
Through the valley of our old St. Mary
You have thrice earned the rest that you’ve got
And the cross your fingers carry to beyond...
Now, I really can’t believe that you’re gone.
There’s a wind blowing off the top of Divide
Through the valley of our old St. Mary
You have thrice earned the rest that you’ve got
And the cross your fingers carry to beyond...
Now, I really can’t believe that you’re gone.
No I really can’t believe
It’s so hard to imagine.
I really don’t believe that you’re gone.
-Jack Gladstone
