Shenandoah

country roads, take me home

there's an old tree somewhere

still standing on a mountaintop

grey and beaten by the years.

she walked toward me

so many memories ago

her chestnut locks

twirl across her cherub face

shirt rosey as her cheeks

biten by the first chilly breeze

of a Fall lost to a handful of faded photographs.

perhaps somewhere in a summer field

a warm hand waits for my icy paw,

but there are too many valleys in between

for winter will be arriving soon,

and i'm too frail for the journey again.

sometimes i wish i'd stayed in these mountains

sustaining my life on corn in mason jars

a fresh rolled cigarette

clenched tween my teeth

the cherry smoke flavor surrounds me

as another apple falls from the tree,

a fine harvest this year.

where i can march with gray ghosts

singing songs of our homeland

as we toss our caps with joy

and the promise of freedom

a few more miles over the mountain.