They said that when I went to California
I'd lose the smell of violets
From my veins
I would dry and brittle up
Like a summer drought
And forget about forests
Swallowed by vines
And other hungry things
And that one morning
In desperation
I would search for hills
Turned purple with scent
And find a desert

©  1987 J.L.Stanley

Appalachian Exile
From Gav - dancing across the thousand mile meadow of light