A Lullaby of the Old South

On a trip to Louisiana, I left a piece of my soul,
the romantic magic that lives on the levee.
There, by the snake brown water of the Mississippi,
is a poetic adventure that visits me in dreams.

We were on a history trip, trying to find the grand old south.
Not the kind where you pay and stand behind ropes,
where a sweet old black man tells you lies of Gone with the Wind.
I wanted to find the real ruins to satisfy the senses and feed my imagination.

We found a grand old lady overgrown in an oil field.
My heart ignored ”Do Not Trespass” warnings.
A crumbling giant stood with an inviting stage for my characters.
A façade, the ruins breath a captivating eerie quality.

Here were days of glory and riches,
followed by long nights of slaughter and disaster.
I picked my way through an empty doorway,
I heard the whispers from an age long ago.

I tried the crumbling steps and twisted my ankle.
I felt a silken gown brush past me on her way up the stairs.
Beauty transcends decay, tender wrinkles of time.
All lost in a pattern of light and shadows from yesterdays.

The mighty Mississippi flows on,
eroding the banks; the destroyer, the serpentine.
She continues through magnolia moonlight nights,
ghosts of fears and joys forever haunt us.



By Kathie Stehr
edited 2012