Wild rugged den of Hatfield and McCoy,
Entered the Union with birth pangs of war.
Sweet meadows punctuate inked river beds,
Trapped in mountains black wealth of coal.
Volunteers--first to send her sons to serve.
In hidden glens Bigfoot and Mothman roam.
Raging rivers white water rafters ride;
Green valleys house her ancient Celtic stock.
Indians roamed, leaving mystic burial mounds;
Night music choir of frog and whip-poor-will.
In forests treasure of ginseng and yellow root;
Apples--green golden fruit crisped in summer dews.
Mysterious mountain culture all her own,
Infused into her native citizens alone.
© Faye Lanham Gibson, 4-15-2014
Categories:
yellow root, culture, mountains,
Form: Acrostic
Before there was pain meds
Before the ER had been abused
There were healers who freely gave their
Time and gifts to those in need
If a child had a bad burn
Call Mrs. Azzie and she could
Talk the fire out of the burn
She mumbled and talked real soft
Until the child went to sleep
Then slept like a log, all night
Unbelievers, here and see
**Just FYI--Mrs. Azzie also had a cure
Potion in her bag for all your
ailments, it's called working the roots
Potions made of various roots
Yellow root, sassafrass and other
root teas, many I don't even want to know
What they are, the smells are vicious enough!!
I think she came from a witch doctor heritage.
Categories:
yellow root, caregiving, childhoodchild,
Form: Light Verse