The South Is Like Fried Green Tomatoes Poem by James McLain

The South is like fried green tomatoes, to me.
Here all my life,
where the snow you have each year, is a blanket,
that covers my fears.
There is a rose hill in every county, next to the cemetery,
a place to visit a jumping off point, from here to eternity.
I have or I once did hear the wind blow, feel it's touch
on my face nestled there in the bushes, next to you.
And just beneath the bark of the oak above it's Roots were my tears.
I cannot determine what they've always been,
what they represent nor why the good are not always young.
Bridges crossed but not burned and the winding road I have
walked seemed so long.
Lilly's long along the path that lead's us there, where
death comes back to check if you are there.
The South is like fried green tomatoes, to me and here it is
where I will die, amongst the flies.