The Old South Poem by Raymond Smith

Green grass and corn stretches to tree lines.

Haze rises from fields, and there is a languorous magic that rises from the land.

Life is slower because the frenetic pace and hustle bustle of the greedy ones has yet to find this place.

Innocent and hardworking folk whose warm presence helps you sleep and wake ready for their breakfast.

The old South, long time gone but not forgotten...

Lost America looking for love in all the wrong places..