Ride In the Blue Ridge
It seems as if some bold designing hand
With black and silver ribbon tied the hills--
Tied by squeezing in the pliant land,
And left a concrete bow beside the mills.
I skimmed old roads both straight and serpentine.
Before me rose the ground in squadrons lined--
In mighty columns of advancing green
They split, fled past and joined themselves behind.
The distant pines in sudden patches sprang
To sing a martial hymn for me below.
Endurance in the elements they sang
A solemn song I was too fast to know.
And fertile seeds of hamlets dotted fields
With white and red--and lent a bustling din
Of bells and hammers where a valley yields
To yellow corn, to foreign soot, to men.
I stopped to see the misty mountains rise
In blue and gray above the ribbon strand.
Their solid stillness melting into skies
Aroused a sadness I could understand.
Copyright © Jerrell Jones | Year Posted 2015
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