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In the Southland of My Youth
The fall birds sing a sweet refrain,
The melodies from my youth
Surge forth to bind me to the land.
The darkened trail by the pasture vale
Comes into view as the leaves pass through
On their mystery tour to incase the dew.
The small fish pond in the foggy air
Is silent and still, no waves to dispel
The smell embraced in honeysuckle lace
Rises entwined with memories fair.
The pine trees grow tall and slender
And let their needles caress
The ground dusty and dry.
The sun slowly rises with few surprises.
I'll plow my acres today
And thank The God Who gave them to me.
Copyright ©
Ken Gillespie
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