I suppose I have been thoroughly gentrified
No lover of the old country bluegrass, I
Was country-bred and to poverty born,
And suppose back home in the hills I shall die
'Midst the high mountain's air now rarified,
I shall go back when aged like many others
To stroll the worn, beaten paths I remember
While I can before the urban life smothers,
And I am become another victim terrified
By angry waves of petrifying lawlessness
And sore deprivation in great time of need
In mind I have grown increasingly restless,
Mindful how the world around me might be
Finding myself, desperately longing to be free.
written September 12, 2021
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