Southern Living
I moved South from Seattle's rainy haze,
To Atlanta's charm in the early 80s days.
They called me a Yankee, a foreign soul,
But Southern living soon took its toll.
Sightseeing spots, reminders of the past,
Stone Mountain, Kennesaw hills, memories that last.
Civil war echoes lingered in the air,
A history woven into Southern flair.
Spring arrived, painting the land anew,
Dogwood trees blossomed, a pristine view.
Azaleas bloomed, colors vibrant and bright,
Colonial homes adorned, a majestic sight.
Kudzu vine spread, a creeping menace,
Climbing poles and trees, a relentless offense.
It suffocated plants, its control unknown,
A battle fought, but its crawl would not be overthrown.
Summer rolled in, with sweltering heat,
Porch-sitting, a respite, a welcome treat.
Neighbors dropped by, conversations flowed,
Cold drinks in hand, stories shared and bestowed.
Magnolia trees, white and pink in bloom,
An office entrance adorned, dispelling gloom.
Camellias, inspiring with their beauty so rare,
Po folks' meals, fried chicken and cornbread to share.
Warmth of the people, overwhelming and kind,
"Sir" echoed, a gesture of respect you'd find.
Cost of living low, money troubles ceased,
Georgia welcomed me, a place of peace.
No matter what they say or press may tell,
In Southern living, I found a hospitable spell.
From the charm of Atlanta to the warmth of the land,
Southern living, a true gem, forever grand.
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