Underneath the Tallahassee Bridge
I could not
Recognize his voice,
When I made this choice,
To sell my soul to the devil
I suppose, he wears the right clothes
We met underneath the Tallahassee Bridge
He plays a mean red fiddle, with a whiskey smile
With an Irish Jig, we dance down this road of life and death
Copyright © Gregory Golden | Year Posted 2008
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment