For Dad

by Gina Hatchell


Old country stores covered with kudzu vines,

and the heady excitement of spotting a rattlesnake.

Opossums caught in the headlights' glare,

and looking for a fishing pole in a cane break.


Creamy, plate-sized magnolia blossoms,

and peeling paint on a well-loved porch swing.

Majestic live oaks dripping with Spanish moss,

and the magical curative powers of healing springs.


Yellow jessamine growing on barbed wire fences,

and a Sunday afternoon drive through sleepy little towns.

Fresh peaches for sale at road side stands,

and the distance bark of blue tick hounds.


The lonesome night calls of a whip poor will,

and scuppernong grapes strewn across a dirt road.

Hayrides behind a tractor under a full, harvest moon,

and a wedding ring quilt on the bed, that Grandma sewed.


This piece of ground that I call home,

has a southern charm all it's own.

I love this place where I live,

and the simple pleasures it has to give.

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