Unincorporated
Fog tumbles through the valley and
settles upon a town
the road keeps winding
cattle slowing down.
Big Sandy swells beneath me
weathered bridges stretch and strain
the sky hangs low and heavy
with whispers of the rain.
Rusted rigs lie silent
where mountaineers are always free
graves abandoned but not forgotten
nearby crooked trees.
Alone upon West Virginia’s valley
the Appalachians blessed this ground
I chase the fog like shadows
lost, I refuse to turn around.
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I love the rhythm of this piece!