I weep hidden among the shadows of my stained glass window.
I long for the scent of magnolia when the wind blows.
Sunrise over plantations casting shadows,
under the old oak trees,
with dangling Spanish moss,
as the winds toss,
the echoes of childrens voices through the air.
Dream! Do you dare?
Screened in porches and wooden rocking chairs.
The scent of jasmine blowing through the air.
Sleep my weeping willow.
Moonlight beams through my stained glass window.
Louisiana, where it never snows,
barefoot children and old dirt roads.
Mississippi River paddle wheelers,swampland, cattails,
and strawberry fields.
Listening to calls of whippoorwills.
The hot, humid bayou of Louisiana,
I wish for the days when I was a child.
Ladies and gentleman, southern beauty smiles.
Swampland for miles.
Mardi Gras krewes made their way down St Charles Avenue.
Crowds of people pushed to get view.
The smell of cigars, cigarettes, bourbon, and beer.
Tons of people spread Mardi Gras cheer.
Sounds of musicians on Bourbon Street.
Woodpeckers pecking a rhythm of beats.
Harmonicas echoing late in the night.
A place where at dusk mosquitoes bite.
Water moccasins lurk in summertime.
Backyard barbecue and strawberry wine.
Early risers over beignets,
and walks along the river banks,
underneath the cypress trees,
a cool perfumed wistera breeze.
And though I weep in the silence of my soul,
with memories of yesterday along the railroad.
