Sweet Home Carolina

From muscadine vines bloom callow memories, unmarred by stains of grizzled putridity.
And in Carolinian valleys where hills, like waves, roll free, tumble the joys of childlike felicity.
There, my thoughts doth lie, entangled in blackwater vines
Behind my home in old, sweet Caroline.
Where I oft felt the heat of her dulcet summer nights,
When we would swing beneath stars and listen to the
songs of the cicadas
Mixed with the plucks of my grandfather's guitar.
We swam in her Cape,
Felt the glow of her Friday night lights,
And tasted the sweetness of her scuppernongs baked in golden, Sunday pies.

Time may be passing
And seasons, like Dogwood leaves, may wither away,
But in age I will always remember the memories of those young summer days
Spent in the old Tar Heel State.