plantation garden

image from tclf.org

http://www.celtic-life.net/galler36.jpg


down south where the summers are steamy,
it is where sweaty hands used to gather
the sticky tobacco leaves,
where rice grew in stratified ponds,
and the cotton bloomed.
it is there where the afternoons
flowed like molasses,
while evenings were headed towards the night
guided by banjo strings;
the rhythms swung the rocker
on the wooden porch
they impregnated the soil
under the swamps
and the herbs danced
never minding the mosquitoes.

if you put your head down onto hard soil
your ear can still hear
yesterday's rhythms.
you can sill feel the love of the lord
who has turned the fruit of the soil
into a beautiful garden
of reverend roses,
camellias and azaleas;
where the oaks shelter
under moving shadows
of spanish moss
long standing statues
and the remains of
those who have passed