Grandma Wilson
Written by Kirk Hawley
They say I was a lively one in my younger years
When I was a girl in Salt Lake City
But I had to put away all of my ribbons and my bows
To be a married girl now ain't that a pity
They called my husband A.G., a stern but righteous man
But on our wedding day he laughed and sang and danced
He gave me eight fine children and he treated me like gold
I was surprised how much I missed him when he passed
I remember one fine morning just before the sun was high
Two Indian women bringing my son Joe in
He was hurt so bad I'm shamed to say I almost hoped he'd die
We didn't lose Joe but we lost the man he could have been
My sons Isadore and Alfred grew up working with the herd
They were good boys who could brand and rope and ride
They were shot from ambush in the last big Indian fight
Now they're lying up there on that mountain side.
It's funny how your spirit wraps around the ones you love
Kind of like a pie crust when the baking's done
Until they might as well be your own flesh and blood and bone
And when that's jerked out, you know it's gonna hurt some.
Now they call me Grandma Wilson and the reason's plain to see
In this picture with my grandkids all around me
They say pride is a sin but I'm glad of what we did
I was the first white woman in this valley.