Dragonflies and fire-flies glide softly on the breeze;
listening to the willows sing that Southern siren dream.
Down
where life is simple, sunbeams dancing through the trees,
eagles soar above and fishes dance into the deep.
Dusty
cotton fields that roll, into those red clay hills ,
people warm and gentle; in a place where time stands still.
This
place is Mississippi. Her name makes our bloods run deep.
She’s seen her share of sorrows, and those ghosts still haunt our
dreams.
But
those of us that know her feel a stir deep in our hearts.
Some leave her for a time but nothing heals that empty heart.
They
long to smell the freshness, from a slow and drenching rain;
and watch as flowers lift their heads to God’s amazing grace.
Pink
lightening in the summer brings a swelter to the heat.
But cooling breezes come and soon the air is sweet with peace.
There’s something that’s pure magic in my Mississippi home.
As I sit and watch the evening slide into my tired soul.
I
watch the moon rise slowly, dripping diamonds as she goes.
And soon my head is fuzzy and it’s off to bed I go.
Above the sky is twinkling, turning daytime into night,
as I await the new day that will bring the morning light.