Georgia, My Orchard Heart

Oh Georgia, my orchard heart The king is waiting on his throne Of red clay, of glass jars and strings Cicadas shriek into the wind A doe, she turns to me then turns back again Oh Georgia, my gentle sky The perfume of your trees Your streets Three a.m., do I still know where they lead? Tie the ribbons, to the branches I watch the day's afterglow So much to pick up, All these twigs and stones interstate seventy five Like the pulse of my southern land, I'm still alive, I'm still alive