Sawdust mountains
the sound of the mill
the scent of raw pine,
a whippoorwill.
Sundown in the Ozarks,
shadows dance
small calves bawl
ponies prance
hogs wallow
in mud holes deep
chickens hatch
with only a cheep,
the branch meanders
whispers and sighs
sweethearts postpone
saying goodbyes
in the Ozark hills
beneath quiet moons
where mamas rock babies
to hillbilly tunes.

© 2014 Freeda Baker Nichols

7 comments on “MY OZARKS

  1. Isn’t it just wondeful to love the place you were raised!


  2. Oh I love how you captured this place that holds a piece of my heart.


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