Coming Back South
By Jacquelyn Hughes Mooney©03
I came back South, not to pick wildflowers…
I came back not to see butterflies, clovers nor drink mint juleps.
I did not come back South for overly romantic, haunting reminiscing…
The mysteries that continue to tug at my heart.
Or to untangle the 19,228 yesterdays that laid up in the marshy soils.
And under the weeping willows or anchor itself in the marrow of faces…
Of ones who were not mercifully taken away from here.
I came back South to fathom the unbelievable…
The seemingly unreachable Persnickety tumbling on those back roads…
A paradigm on surface appearance seems to have no rhyme or reason.
I came back South to listen to wind sounds intertwined in trees at dusk.
And high moons at noon in June that shouldn’t be there.
Ancient winds of times blowing to unveil shield treasures…
To unfold secrets too many folks try to cover up, cover over
So for once we can all stop pretending
And that is why I came South.
Allrights reservedHJM©03
By Jacquelyn Hughes Mooney©03
I came back South, not to pick wildflowers…
I came back not to see butterflies, clovers nor drink mint juleps.
I did not come back South for overly romantic, haunting reminiscing…
The mysteries that continue to tug at my heart.
Or to untangle the 19,228 yesterdays that laid up in the marshy soils.
And under the weeping willows or anchor itself in the marrow of faces…
Of ones who were not mercifully taken away from here.
I came back South to fathom the unbelievable…
The seemingly unreachable Persnickety tumbling on those back roads…
A paradigm on surface appearance seems to have no rhyme or reason.
I came back South to listen to wind sounds intertwined in trees at dusk.
And high moons at noon in June that shouldn’t be there.
Ancient winds of times blowing to unveil shield treasures…
To unfold secrets too many folks try to cover up, cover over
So for once we can all stop pretending
And that is why I came South.
Allrights reservedHJM©03
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