I was taught to understand the wail of Jones and Owens -
The cry of the fiddle , Hank telling it right ,
the Opry on Saturday night
The necessity of a front porch
Steel toed boots , sun tea and sassafras root                                             A late night swing for two 'neath a bustling oak
Coonhound companions and old school-
blokes
We learned to catch our own minnows 'n
fry our own slabs
Sunday dinners turned into afternoon naps
Grief and gain walked hand in hand
Someday my body's corruption will be turned to sand
Left to blow across this hallowed land ...