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I was born beyond the thickets of wild blueberry bushes and endless country roads. 
Where the sun shined down over fields where my mothers lilacs grow. 
Dirt roads and pebbled lanes would lead you anywhere but home.
Bare feet on summers earth, lakes of cedar where pine trees choose to grow. 
Whispers of bonfires at night kept us behaving through the daylight. 
Tire swings hung from thriving oaks, flying higher than the eagles soar. 
Setting Suns , creating blushing skies , a rush to hurry and get suppers started.
Old country bells ring to announce a feast , on front porches with lemonade at your feet.
The night falling into darkness, the sparks from timbers clouding tired minds with smoke.
Moonshine jars filled with sweet tea, all the long while, whispers
Come dance with me…
Music of the fiddle played , laughter fills my heart. 
A smile , a place… Where my heart grows wild, upon the nectar of a barefoot child.

All the sunsets in the world could not hold a flame to the childhood I spent on country land