Ode

Hail to thee sweet southern lady

Ripe with charm are thee

Tis calm beneath your willows

Tis warm beneath your leaves

Tho many wish for days of olden

This hour I do see

A potent poets sultry potion

Poured out for us to breathe

Why doth thee dwell in such a world

Of greed and speed and clamor

Why not return from where you came

Tis surely glitz and glamour

Or are thou here upon command

For sons to catch a peak

Is it thou choice or by His voice

That thee doth pass the week

No matter what the rhyme or reason

There rarely be a cloud

Whatever be the time or season

Hail to thee! The South!