Hymn of the Ozarks

May sunrise

Ancient continental spine
her land deep rutted, hollows
cut deep, retreating from steep ridges,
above ageless streams and rivers.
She is my home
Not born but adopted
child of hard scrabble rockfilled ridges
and deep green spring cooled hollows.
I have felt her heartbeat
from the instant my foot touched
her hard soil
and my eyes saw
a color not known until that day –
the blueness
of her October sky.
I was beckoned as if I knew her
and my soul was drawn to this promised land.
She is my home, ancient and new,
from her craggy stone breast
and fragrant sassafras woods
she calls me-
blood deep.