When I think of the south,
It’s Coltrane by the river,
It’s the sweat on my neck,
How her arms hold me
like a mother with her child,
The smiles of strangers,
It’s not knowing where to be
but welcome at every door,
It’s the music in the breeze,
My warmest of beds,
Oh how her sweet songs
breath life back into my chest,
All of her bridges,
The waters beneath them,
Carry me back to the beginning,
Back to the orchards
and the light between the leaves,
What a wonder this place is
How could I ever flee.