January 16, 2011
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So soft, so grand
My haven of grainy sand.
So old, a tradition
We come here to rest
To laugh, to go fishin'.

So safe, so loud
Of this place I am proud.
So deep, so historic,
When here, I am euphoric.

Spanish moss, black dirt
No pain, nothing hurts.
With Aunt Betty, Uncle Jack
Pure freedom, nothing lacks.

Palmettos in the breeze,
Summer brine,cousins,scraped knees.
Horse-drawn carts, cobbled streets,
Down home food, great to eat.

Colorful homes, smiling faces,
Pineapple fountain,exciting places.
Old porch swing, sleep calling,
This summer, in love I am falling,
As I do each time, for our visits Are rare,simple,but so fine.

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VeggieMonster said...
Oct. 6, 2011 at 8:13 am
I really like how honest this poem is, but the last stanza seems to be ill fitting to the rest of the text.
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