PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Growing up free - back in the hills,

Country bred - to life’s simple thrills,

Drinking water - from Spring’s fountains,

Running in creeks - down the mountains,

For a better life - there was no wishin’,

Hiking, camping - hunting and fishin’,

The peak’s rolling shadows - on a little town,

In the sweet twilight - as the sun went down,

Ghostly mist rising-up - from  hollers on a rainy day,

While the slopes turn blue - to skies heavy and gray,

At night the mountains towered - the storm lit up the sky,

I remeber the glowing outline - by dark spines of ridges high,

The many colored hues - of the mountain’s storming,

Reflected by crystal dews - with the dawn’s warming,

Now, the days in the mountains - have a certain fate,

Dusk always comes early - sunrise always comes late,

In the Spring time - we would plow the fields,

Then in early Summer - we’d plant for yields,

Come early Fall - we’d gather up the harvest,

When cannin’ and makin’ apple butter are best,

Now in late Autumn - it’s time to slaughter the meat,

Butchered, then hung - in the smokehouse so neat,

Then we’d make a little cider - maybe let it get old,

All our work carried us - through the Winter so cold,

During the colder months - attended a li’l mountain school,

Learned the three “R’s” - and the Golden Rule,

Recess the boys might blush - an’ the girls might squeal,

While playin’ Red Rover - or dancin’ the Virginia Reel,

There wasn’t nothin’ quite better - wasn’t nothin’ so cool,

When your sweetheart let ya - walk ‘em home from school,

The smell of coal smoke rising - from the chimneys so high,

If you live somewhere else - you’d have to wonder why,

They are the hollers of my home.