Monday, March 26, 2012

My Appalachian Mountains are Calling me Home


I want to go home, Little Granny said,

To see all my kin afore I’m dead.

My mountains they whisper from the holler,

And the Gaps are calling me to foller.

Just one more swig from Uncle Zeke’s still,

It will cure anything, no matter if you ain’t ill.

I get a notion to eat a wild persimmon again,

It wondrous taste would almost be a sin.

To smell the Morning Glories that grows wild up the mountain paths,

I could not count them all---so many—and I am not good in math.

And visit the grave of my old Sweetheart,

It was terrible we had to part.

For I never loved another like he,

My Darling was the only one for me.

I want to hear the Whip-a-wills call, and the Owls that say whoo-whoo,

And to hear the morning doves when they coo-coo.

I want to visit Ma and Pa, where they are buried high on Morgan Hill,

I want to put some wild flowers on their graves, and then stand very still.


To wait for a sign from the mountains that is calling my name,

I will not wait long my children, for this is not a game.

There will be no winner here,

Only the Grim Reaper will cheer.

My life has been full, and I wait for my call,

Please take me to my mountains, this is what I ask of you and that is all.

So, the grandchildren took Little Granny to her Mountains,

To live in her kin’s old home by nature’s fountain.


Where she would wake by the sound of falling water,

And listen to the chatter of the friendly Otters.

Little Granny rocked in her mother’s old chair,

Hoping the Angels would soon be there.

Over the mountains as dawn pushed out the night,

They found Little Granny still and cold---- her spirit took flight.

It is often told that some see a young Little Granny walking with

her darling----- holding hands and kissing,

This could be very true it happens in the mountains,

or it could be just wishing.




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