When I moved to South Georgia some ten years ago, I found much to my liking. I also saw some things I did not like. The long, rainy spells, boiled peanuts and marsh grass were all over rated as far as I was concerned.
At the end of the ten years, I find that I still like many of the things that first appealed to me. But, now I miss the rain if it doesn’t come as frequently as it should. I enjoy boiled peanuts almost as much as the kids do. And as for the marsh grass…
I loathe your swampland marshes;
Your brown and squalid marshes,
Your dead and dying grasses
Your yellow, molding grasses.
Why do you love the marshes?
What powers hold the marshes?
Why must you call them homeland?
Why can’t I love your grassland.
Time comes; time passes;
And still I hate your grasses.
I look at marsh - its being,
And all I’m ever seeing
Is musty mildewed miring
Surrounding me, ne’er tiring.
Why do you love the marshes?
What powers hold the marshes?
Why must you call them homeland?
Why can’t I love your grassland?
Time comes; time passes
What music sings the grasses?
The weeping cries are haunting;
The rustling sighs are taunting.
I fear the eerie noises -
But called by mystic voices.
What power have these rushes?
What secrets hold these rushes”
What secrets do they whisper?
How can I hear the whisper?
Time comes; time passes.
What wonder brings the grasses.
I look at marsh unending,
Its stately reeds unbending -
A fresh, unbeaten sea
Unyielding, claiming me!
Why have the marshes shifted?
Or is it I so gifted?
What powers hold the marshes?
What makes me love the marshes?
Time comes; time passes.
And now - I love my grasses!
I love my swampland marshes,
My lovely russet marshes,
My lovely growing grasses
My friendly golden grasses.
1974
This may be my favorite!