*This is not an original work by me*
This poem is by a favorite poet of mine named Byron Herbert Reece. He is a distant relative of mine. I wanted to post these poems because he is little known, and I think his work deserves to be recognized.

*the following is a short biography taken from a collection of Reece's poems titled "Ballad of the Bones".*

Byron Herbert Reece was born and reared in a secluded mountain area of North Georgia near Blairsville. Before he entered elementary school, he read "Pilgrim's Progress" and much of the Bible, upon which many of his later ballads were based. As an adult, he was a lonely mountain man who was a modestly successful dirt farmer and a poet of surpassing genius. Reece had the ability to say new things in the old traditional forms, distinguished by their simplicity and accuracy. His poetry was mystical, lonely and often seemed preoccupied with death. Reece was perhaps the greatest balladeer of the Appalachians. During his short life, he received two prestigious Guggenheim awards and lectured as Writer-in-Residence at UCLA, Emory University and Young Harris College. Reece died by his own hand on the campus of Young Harris College in early June 1958.