Have you heard the black 'n tans -
howling by the December moonlight
Have you shot mistletoe down -
from high atop an oak tree
Gathered pecans on a frosty -
morning , toted well water -
in the heat of summer , led cattle
to their winter quarters
Have you picked blackberries and wild plums -
all day from the side of a gravel road
Have you ambled long distances through -
piedmont forest to get to a little country store
Did you ever seine minnows an hunt crayfish
in the springtime
Have you tasted concord grapes fresh off the vine* ..

Keep your hands in your pockets , keep your tongue secured with clinched teeth
Focus on the ground as you meander down the street

If you cross an ornery mules hindquarters without -
a proper invite you will receive an honorary
degree in 'Hard Negotiation' with a painful Minor in 'Basic Farm Skill and Insight* ...

Parliamentary procedure and decorum will not work in modifying -
the government , war mongers understand nothing
save for the rifle , the pistol and the shotgun
Authority is a virulent poison dispensed
in small dosages throughout the life of the State , meant to inebriate the peasants , control freewill , to educate the young with propaganda ... 'Politicians' rule by fear and intimidation , amassing large militaries to carryout their doctrine in the name of 'peace'
Government will resort to wholesale death and destruction to secure their nationalist schemes* ..

He could be an ogre with -
five and a half teeth and ferocious
breath
He drank Old Milwaukee every -
night an will most likely die with a
can in his hand
His cause of death will be consumption
His liver will be a 'pickled mess'
He bathed from April till August
Gnawing on country ham and instant coffee -
at four thirty every morning wearing untied boots ,
Rustler jeans with a flannel shirt
He would down two Goody powders before leaving
the house an heading to work
Didn't give a **** for being couth but -
he was a "shaman" whenever I positively
needed 'the truth'* ...

A nightingale craves the early moon
Just as petulant March portends wintertide's -
turbulent doom
Robins solo in April's twilight hush
So what will my life become , devoid of her -
tender touch* ...

Beagles are braying to a southbound train
Are they entertained or do they croon with pain
Call them enchanted nonetheless for they howl be
it bright moonlight or pouring rain
Is this wailing or laughter , or early morning
banter
The song of the railroad plays before small towns all down
the silver line , trestles tapping time , the screech
of steel meeting steel , shorts taps of the whistle ,
the clap of the iron horse machinations , plowing
through lowland and hillside with naked aggression
Sing , piedmont hounds
Call the approach of the nighttime steam wagon , rustling wooden boxcars , creosote mingling with diesel , coal cars , lumber and ration