A southern blend of jasmine and magonolia waft across the grounds an in it is a mixture of tell
Tale knowing a little smoulder lies in her eyes it causes you to anticapate a well spoken word
First it has a different sound than the rest of the country it has a bluesy age to it like it has come
From the delta it took its on sweet time in doing so it is bold just with enough southen sass to
Keep you alert you can’t take for granted that which is explosive and vibrant you don’t live in
The rise and fall of such rich history and not carry a mystery and confidence that is allureing
Tressels and verandas build the tender mood of gentel beckoning that is adorded as seasoned
Fashion spell binding unabashed qaulity is seen in modest means that streams like blue bells that
Have been turned to liquid by charms power and it lays like a long lasy haze that reaches the
Far horizion with a sigh you stop and deeply meditate this creates strong thoughts that go out
From your inner self like a suden strong wind that list and goes where you no not but
refreshment Is left in its wake like an old winding road it not the arriving but the going that is
awsome it delivers Many sights like the night it holds wonders of compassion as an old man you
see in his eyes That knowing that shows care you feel a welcome embracing toucing you for
Dixie makes a Speacial brew it takes long long southern days and paitennce here is derived like
no other place you get that taste of grace speaking slowly it is a trait of the wise that came by
it not by racing To it but by a slow assurance that only grows when you give it time it gives life
a higher qaulity that Is rare in our modern world why would you take a speed boat when you can
go by paddle wheel and go to a place called Natchez eithier real or imagined gentel thoughts
invade and they are a gloroious parade with all sorts of colors and floats that portray geenteel
sentiments some of it is the feeling of loss that great and real times that held such sway are truly
gone with the wind bedeviled by a women she wears a oversized hat that frames her and in many
ways explains her the showing of a well spring of love to be bathed in her voice it trully is the
finding of that memory and grand glory of a true sothern bell walk softly in this spell created
over many treasured moments in southern rays and moonlight kissed by a protective certiny of
woman hood found in no other place cover me God in sothern primose dreams until I walk again
on the great southern soil

I'm not a poet.
But if I were, i'd probably be a nocturnal one and i'd write about how on most nights my tongue is a tombstone, my throat a grave filled with regret,
and my voice is each grunt and whine I give my timed reflection as I avoid every mirror because I can't stand looking at myself...i'd tell...
I'd tell people that my depression is an ocean. Within it's waves, high and low...slowly but surely blanketing over me...dragging any broken
and lost pieces of my happiness back into itself, resetting the sand that is my skin so tomorrow you can't see the holes that were there.
Yeah.
I'm not a poet.
But maybe if I were, i'd write a song about her. It would tell a story about how on days when the sun blinks and everything around me is grey; and the
world is stained with my fears...she. is. the honey-warm scent after a summer rain, an evening primose before the tempest, and the quiet cerulean air in an earthquake...
she's...every hue of a pacific sunset.
I'd sing about how she was the moments between each tide that kept me warm; how she was the sun that fed the daisies in my throat reminding me
that life is possible.
I'm no poet.
But if I were then this paper would be the towel I dried my heart with, the words would be all the unspoken dreams of my insomnia, and the pen was the
blade used to cut this heart so I could bleed my everything to you...I swear. If I were a poet, i'd whisper every vowel i've been given that completes me
into stardust. Sprinkled into the cosmos to someday create a world where the ocean never raged. A world where there were just enough clouds and no
earthquakes...then again...where's the poetry in that?

A southern blend of jasmine and magonolia waft across the grounds an in it is a mixture of tell
Tale knowing a little smoulder lies in her eyes it causes you to anticapate a well spoken word
First it has a different sound than the rest of the country it has a bluesy age to it like it has come
From the delta it took its on sweet time in doing so it is bold just with enough southen sass to
Keep you alert you can’t take for granted that which is explosive and vibrant you don’t live in
The rise and fall of such rich history and not carry a mystery and confidence that is allureing
Tressels and verandas build the tender mood of gentel beckoning that is adorded as seasoned
Fashion spell binding unabashed qaulity is seen in modest means that streams like blue bells that
Have been turned to liquid by charms power and it lays like a long lasy haze that reaches the
Far horizion with a sigh you stop and deeply meditate this creates strong thoughts that go out
From your inner self like a suden strong wind that list and goes where you no not but
refreshment Is left in its wake like an old winding road it not the arriving but the going that is
awsome it delivers Many sights like the night it holds wonders of compassion as an old man you
see in his eyes That knowing that shows care you feel a welcome embracing toucing you for
Dixie makes a Speacial brew it takes long long southern days and paitennce here is derived like
no other place you get that taste of grace speaking slowly it is a trait of the wise that came by
it not by racing To it but by a slow assurance that only grows when you give it time it gives life
a higher qaulity that Is rare in our modern world why would you take a speed boat when you can
go by paddle wheel and go to a place called Natchez eithier real or imagined gentel thoughts
invade and they are a gloroious parade with all sorts of colors and floats that portray geenteel
sentiments some of it is the feeling of loss that great and real times that held such sway are truly
gone with the wind bedeviled by a women she wears a oversized hat that frames her and in many
ways explains her the showing of a well spring of love to be bathed in her voice it trully is the
finding of that memory and grand glory of a true sothern bell walk softly in this spell created
over many treasured moments in southern rays and moonlight kissed by a protective certiny of
woman hood found in no other place cover me God in sothern primose dreams until I walk again
on the great southern soil

Southern style

A southern blend of jasmine and magonolia waft across the grounds an in it is a mixture of tell
Tale knowing a little smoulder lies in her eyes it causes you to anticapate a well spoken word

First it has a different sound than the rest of the country it has a bluesy age to it like it has come
From the delta it took its on sweet time in doing so it is bold just with enough southen sass to

Keep you alert you can’t take for granted that which is explosive and vibrant you don’t live in
The rise and fall of such rich history and not carry a mystery and confidence that is allureing

Tressels and verandas build the tender mood of gentel beconing that is adorded as seasoned
Fashion spell binding unabashed qaulity is seen in modest means that streams like blue bells that

Have been turned to liquid by charms power and it lays like a long lasy haze that reaches the
Far horizion with a sigh you stop and deeply meditate this creates strong thoughts that go out

From your inner self like a suden strong wind that list and goes where you no not but
refreshment Is left in its wake like an old winding road it not the arriving but the going that is

awsome it delivers Many sights like the night it holds wonders of compassion as an old man you
see in his eyes That knowing that shows care you feel a welcome embracing toucing you for

Dixie makes a Speacial brew it takes long long southern days and paitennce here is derived like
no other place you get that taste of grace speaking slowly it is a trait of the wise that came by  

it  not by racing To it but by a slow assurance that only grows when you give it time it gives life
a higher qaulity that Is rare in our modern world why would you take a speed boat when you can

go by paddle wheel and go to a place called Natchez eithier real or imagined gentel thoughts
invade and they are a gloroious parade with all sorts of colors and floats that portray geenteel

sentiments some of it is the feeling of loss that great and real times that held such sway are truly
gone with the wind bedeviled by a women she wears a oversized hat that frames her and in many

ways explains her the showing of a well spring of love to be bathed in her voice it trully is the
finding of that memory and grand glory of a true sothern bell walk softly in this spell created

over many treasured moments in southern rays and moonlight kissed by a protective certiny of
woman hood found in no other place  cover me God in sothern primose dreams until I walk again

on the great southern soil

Southern Style


A southern blend of jasmine and magonolia waft across the grounds an in it is a mixture of tell
Tale knowing a little smoulder lies in her eyes it causes you to anticapate a well spoken word
First it has a different sound than the rest of the country it has a bluesy age to it like it has come
From the delta it took its on sweet time in doing so it is bold just with enough southen sass to
Keep you alert you can’t take for granted that which is explosive and vibrant you don’t live in
The rise and fall of such rich history and not carry a mystery and confidence that is allureing
Tressels and verandas build the tender mood of gentel beckoning that is adorded as seasoned
Fashion spell binding unabashed qaulity is seen in modest means that streams like blue bells that
Have been turned to liquid by charms power and it lays like a long lasy haze that reaches the
Far horizion with a sigh you stop and deeply meditate this creates strong thoughts that go out
From your inner self like a suden strong wind that list and goes where you no not but
refreshment Is left in its wake like an old winding road it not the arriving but the going that is
awsome it delivers Many sights like the night it holds wonders of compassion as an old man you
see in his eyes That knowing that shows care you feel a welcome embracing toucing you for
Dixie makes a Speacial brew it takes long long southern days and paitennce here is derived like
no other place you get that taste of grace speaking slowly it is a trait of the wise that came by
it not by racing To it but by a slow assurance that only grows when you give it time it gives life
a higher qaulity that Is rare in our modern world why would you take a speed boat when you can
go by paddle wheel and go to a place called Natchez eithier real or imagined gentel thoughts
invade and they are a gloroious parade with all sorts of colors and floats that portray geenteel
sentiments some of it is the feeling of loss that great and real times that held such sway are truly
gone with the wind bedeviled by a women she wears a oversized hat that frames her and in many
ways explains her the showing of a well spring of love to be bathed in her voice it trully is the
finding of that memory and grand glory of a true sothern bell walk softly in this spell created
over many treasured moments in southern rays and moonlight kissed by a protective certiny of
woman hood found in no other place cover me God in sothern primose dreams until I walk again
on the great southern soil

A southern blend of jasmine and magonolia waft across the grounds an in it is a mixture of tell
Tale knowing a little smoulder lies in her eyes it causes you to anticapate a well spoken word
First it has a different sound than the rest of the country it has a bluesy age to it like it has come
From the delta it took its on sweet time in doing so it is bold just with enough southen sass to
Keep you alert you can’t take for granted that which is explosive and vibrant you don’t live in
The rise and fall of such rich history and not carry a mystery and confidence that is allureing
Tressels and verandas build the tender mood of gentel beckoning that is adorded as seasoned
Fashion spell binding unabashed qaulity is seen in modest means that streams like blue bells that
Have been turned to liquid by charms power and it lays like a long lasy haze that reaches the
Far horizion with a sigh you stop and deeply meditate this creates strong thoughts that go out
From your inner self like a suden strong wind that list and goes where you no not but
refreshment Is left in its wake like an old winding road it not the arriving but the going that is
awsome it delivers Many sights like the night it holds wonders of compassion as an old man you
see in his eyes That knowing that shows care you feel a welcome embracing toucing you for
Dixie makes a Speacial brew it takes long long southern days and paitennce here is derived like
no other place you get that taste of grace speaking slowly it is a trait of the wise that came by
it not by racing To it but by a slow assurance that only grows when you give it time it gives life
a higher qaulity that Is rare in our modern world why would you take a speed boat when you can
go by paddle wheel and go to a place called Natchez eithier real or imagined gentel thoughts
invade and they are a gloroious parade with all sorts of colors and floats that portray geenteel
sentiments some of it is the feeling of loss that great and real times that held such sway are truly
gone with the wind bedeviled by a women she wears a oversized hat that frames her and in many
ways explains her the showing of a well spring of love to be bathed in her voice it trully is the
finding of that memory and grand glory of a true sothern bell walk softly in this spell created
over many treasured moments in southern rays and moonlight kissed by a protective certiny of
woman hood found in no other place cover me God in sothern primose dreams until I walk again
on the great southern soil