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