Poems from Linda Russom
Her valleys low,her mountains steep.
Her trees are green with roots so deep.
Nature's wonders we tread beneath
Our quest for riches she can...
I grew up in the fiftys, hard work was all I knew.
Picking cotton for a living was expected of you.
I wore dresses Mama made from old flour...
Wispy weeping willow,a beautiful tree.
leaves gently moving,so I can see.
Not changing,always the same.
no one to control,no one to tame....