It’s like something you can’t explain.

It’s like the music of the rain.

A foreshadowing patter of bliss;

       desiring a long awaited kiss.

Ceiling fans spinning at their highest setting,

Leaves us questioning our roots;

                                                  our beginnings.

Church steeples arise o’er yonder plains,

     Like a little slice of heaven we use to keep sane.

Growing worlds of fervor and haste,

   Leads to long lost loves gone to waste.

The sights, the sounds,

                        the tastes, the smells,

           Provide insight to our social wells.

Laughing churns a mothers heart

               where humble souls make their start.

Glance to me incessantly,

As I become ripe and savory.