ghosts of the morning
dance lightly from the hills
weaving in the shadows
of yesteryday's dreams
on a lone country road
I go stalking the promise
that led so far from my home
through the dewdrops and drizzle
no echo or thunder, just an isolated storm
and the sound of my footsteps
over gravel and stone
In the pluck of the banjo, the harmonica note
there’s a sadness within every song
though I sing out the glory
praise and thanks to my maker
I realize, too, I’ll be leaving one day
and there’ll be a ghost of the morning
rising from the valley for me
now, in the autumn of years
how golden the springtime, how precious the summers,
all my life’s moments, so dear
but when my rapture comes
I’ll gladly surrender
the sorrows and joys that carried these bones
as this morning awakens
and in all days that follow
there’ll be deer in the meadows
birds in the trees
sunshine, flowers, rain and release
for a lifetime spent chasing
the ghosts of the morning
for some hint of what it all means
