NPWM Day 28: Whiskey Streams

Down in the valley,

Deep in the holler,

the whiskey streams

babble and murmur

as if intoxicated, themselves.

The air is redolent with

the fragrance of wildflowers

and moonshine stills.

Time slows like honey

dripping from the comb.

And if you laid your weary head

down on the loam

near that stuttering, muttering

white-lightning brook,

you might wake up

a hundred years later.

But nothing would have changed.

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