Wild blackberry bushes, you make my hands sticky. But, oh, your fruit tastes divine.
The big field for riding Babe bottoms out. I have no saddle on her and I am clutched to her mane as we soar across the green and yellow.
River, oh, how I adore taking the wooden canoe down to AKeller Dam. Dip, dip, and pull, one side and then the other.
Train, where is your station? Lost in years where Granny would hear All aboard echoing through the old country store. Now, your great engine just blows past the trees calling to days past.
Little church, with your designated pews name plaques on them, are you listening to my grandmother pumping the ancient organ?
Freckles, freckles everywhere, you are as much a part of the farm as the cattle and tobacco. Why can’t we put a little cabin in the woods upon the peak.
Watery creek, you know my skin well as my naked body floats like lemons in Momma’s tea until a splashing quarrel begins, and my suitless body is drenched. Watch out for the snapping turtle, boys; They are mean.
So long farm.
If folks can’t see the beauty in you, they will never see the true me…