Southern Poems

The masque is over, the dance is done,
The lights, the music, the flirting, the fun.
Get your hat and pass me my shawl,
Let’s make our way home, before the morning gray.

Sweet was the times when weloiter’d,
Arm-in-arm on the sandybeach,
down the path, through the orchards.
Oh, how I remember the sound of the sea,
The smell of the blossoming tree.
And the gentle touch of my lover’s hand.
His voice was smooth as satin yards,
And my name forever on his lips,
Oh, what give, for those feverish days.
But, man’s rage did call,
And he fought for Southern cause.
For his safe return I could only plea.
The waves still pound against the shore,
And still doth bloom the blossom.
But, Now my love, sleeps forever,
beneath his marble stone.

Mama when they bring me home,
lay me down in a field of gold,
under that old oak tree, where the
soft wind blows.
It is here I can hear the robin sing
and the bubbling brook down yonder way.
Plant me just over the hill,
So I can smell the evening meal
and hear Papa working in the fields.
Sweet Mother dear, do not cry for me,
I won’t be lonely here
underneath this
Southern Soil.