Canyon Creek

Canyon Creek mornings, engine humming low,
Frost on the windows, pale mountain glow.
Short bus rolling down a gravel spine,
Dad at the wheel, watching kids align.

One-room schoolhouse at the end of the road,
Backpacks swinging with their heavy load.
Little blind boy with a mischief grin,
Popped out his eye just to roll it to him.

Canyon Creek laughter, Canyon Creek light,
My dad Ernie holding the day just right.
Every child safe in that rattling seat,
Every mile driven was a promise kept neat.
Canyon Creek stories in the bus door squeak,
That’s where I learned what “care” really means.

He told it like a joke, but love was the core,
He saw every kid as worth fighting for.
That tiny route in the mountain air
Was a chapel of yellow where he chose to care.

Canyon Creek whispers in the back of my mind,
Whenever I’m called to be gentle and kind.
A short bus saint on a winding streak—
That’s my daddy on Canyon Creek.

Open lyric document