Appalachia ©

I’ve never seen Appalachia
in the fall,
where simple leaves clothe the world
in golden landscapes
and winds whistle tunes with strange melodies
that haunt the mists,
deep amongst trees
so very tall.

I’ve never lifted a silent stone
from a forest floor,
nor listened to the music of a gurgling stream
that rills fast in sunlit smile
tumbling in hastened joy to join
others of its ilk,
as they descend in the sacred sound
of a waterfall roar.

I’ve never been in Appalachia
in the fall,
nor heard the fiddle played in guitar harmony
as mandolin trills
race with banjos plucking
ancient airs from memories distant
and mountain voices sing gospels to the Lord
within a clapboard hall.