Where the mountain river flows
And the rhododendron grows
Is the land of all the lands
That I touch with tender hands;
Loved and treasured, earth and star,
By my father's father far--
Deep-earth, black-earth, of-the-lime
From the ancient oceans' time.
Plow-land, fern-land, woodland shade,
Grave-land where my kin are laid,
West Virginia's hills to bless--
Leafy songs of wilderness;
Dear land, near land, here at home--
Where the rocks are honeycomb,
And the rhododendrons . . .
Where the mountain river runs.
Louise McNeill
2 comments:
Jay and I rafted the New River years ago. Beautiful and haunting. I don't see pics of your bungee jump from the New River Bridge...forgot you camera, right?
My sister and I took an exploratory trip to West Virginia in our late teens; we stayed in Charleston and went to see the bridge. Your pictures helped to bring it all back.
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