Down in The South

Down in The South
Where the “honeys” run thick
and the trees stretch out in the wind
Where green grass and pastures
roll over the line
where the sky slips under the dig

Long-winded hellos
and hearty goodbyes
The eyes and mouths of a land
run on through the ages
and all center stages
are coated with barbecue hands

You won’t find a soul
who won’t ask you your day
who won’t stop and drawl you on in

Down in The South
Where the fiddles get sawing
and the cream’s not one for skimming
It’s how-do-you-dos and ma’ams and sirs
and the summer air sips swimming

When winter sharps
and humid rakes
and freezing takes it’s toll
The South shares a shake
it’s fork, knife, and steak
in the copper lights of the lull

Down here in this place
condemned to re-lace
the weaves of history’s furl
The South grins a tooth
and loves you the same
Down here where the people remain

Southern pasture. Photo captured by the author.