January 30, 2007

• Mason - Dixon

  You are deep in

          the pines of Georgia,

  her boughs whispering. 
  

  
  

  I am Brushing the snow

         in Massachusettes,

  silence lightly falling.

  We have crossed the line,

          our armies bristle

  cannon arrayed, fuses primed.

  And we will meet, sweet Dixie

  we will meet and our arms

  will exchange fire!

  Oh, how our shots will ring,

          our corporals,
  

  charge, thrust, entwined.

  The smoke clears,

         across the line I gaze
  

  and find love.
  

  • 10:06 pm
  • 1 Comment