The sounds of stringed instruments
waft along the canyon walls.
Peaceful and soothing,
My foot gently moving
To Nitty Gritty tunes of old.

In Paonia, in my younger years,
With no thoughts of old age, and having no fears,
We descended into the mountain,
And dug coal for our careers.
Such are the ways of fools.

But who gets to live
Amidst beauty like this,
If even for only a short while?
But when I recall
The peace of it all,
It still can make me smile.

The Gunnison rolls by,
Mt. Lamborn sits on high,
The Pinions cluster low to the ground.
Red Mesa today,
Gazes far and away,
As the Quakies gently sway,
In the sun.

I drove by the house,
Where I'd lived with my spouse,
More than a lifetime ago.
But the children are grown,
And there is no longer a home,
The Gunnison claimed it for its own.

What has become of my friends
Who dug coal every day?
Are they still in Paonia?
Or, like me, did they move away?

To higher mountains,
To cleaner air,
To kinder music heard on the wind?
Is their hair still long,
And their hearts still strong,
Does peace still abide in their souls?

But it was a gift, you know,
Up high in the snow,
Where you felt like you were living with God.
And when the elk ate the grass,
On Minnesota Pass,
I always felt like I was home.

But who gets to live
Amidst beauty like this,
If only for a short while?
And when I recall
The peace of it all,
You know,
It still can make me smile.