Sunday, July 29, 2007

Appalachian Symphony

Split rail fences like bars of music
With birds sittin' on the rails
Like notes to be played
In a glorious hymn of praise.
Mountains wiped over
With a whitewash of fog
As if the Creator
Scored a symphony
Played by the wind
Syncopated by the rumble
Of thunder dancin'
Up and down the hollers
Tappin' out a rhythm
On the slate rock
Of every dry branch.
The melody is whispered
In the shifting wind
The high soprano harmonies
Taken up by the mockingbird
The subtle alto sung
By the whippoorwill.
Sweet grasses dance
In time to the music
One way then another
This way and back
To an Appalachian Symphony.

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