I grew up in the neck ah these woods.

Where summer days just laze away

and Fall tastes of baked goods.

Where dirt vanishs into a reddish clay.


I may be more city then country,

but one is hard pressed to forget

the ballet of red and yellow, as the wind bluntly

lies about the coming of winter. Onset


by leaves fluttering down as if rain

swirling into tornado’s upon the ground.

One is hard pressed to find beauty that can compare…even in Main.

Something here pulls one in and you become bound.


‘Round these neck ah the woods

acorns are liable to knock some alarm

into your head, As they descend onto yard goods…

the driving force behind southern charm.


Nature and urban twist into harmony.

As brakes shriek

to avoid the deer family,

that wondered into neighborhood mystique.