White Silk and Whispers
Lazy mists envelop this land;
scarlet sky with a serene azure;
working fields of cotton or yam;
adrift within a sun dog's rapture.
Awkward stare at waltzing ravens
escape aromas; decayed river silt;
prayers come and rise to Heaven
her old wheel spins white raw silk.
A cool breeze blows over the bay,
whispers of death, the devil's desire.
Life at the crossroad relives each day,
as Robert Johnson strums in the fire.