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
Copyright © Jeremy Martin | Year Posted 2013
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