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Prince Of Scutchalo

of

Vicksburg, MS, US

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To Scutchalo

by

Prince Of Scutchalo

We took a trip to scutchalo
To view the tumbling waters there.
To rest 'neath nature's sheltering wing,
To breathe the pure untainted air.

We told the story of the mill
That once had stood atop the falls
And plumbed the holes cut in the rock
That held the timbers of its walls.

We gazed into the rippling pool,
And wandered on the pebbly shore,
And spoke of thousand days gone by,
And of the ones who'd come before.

We wondered if they found the cove
As lovely then as 'twas this day,
And how this nature's miracle
could be misplaced along the way?

Then, as the sun began descent
We made our way across the bridge.
There, bade goodby to scutchalo
And turned for home atop the ridge.

Lingering only to admire,
Along the trail through dusk's soft light,
The wild azalea's muted flower
Lest we be captured by the night.

Untitled

by

Prince Of Scutchalo

There are ghosts here that once were men
Who plowed the fields and roamed the ridge

In the summers breeze they live again

And the sunset shadows often bridge
That hollow between now and then

In the memories of those living still.

And as dusk provides the twilight stage
The cast in grey drift in to call

And listen as the talesman spins

And very soon not ghosts at all
But men and women flesh and blood

Surround you there as kith and kin