Sad, sad mountain shadows.
Oh, the ridge is so blue
since the grapevines overgrew.
Mournful, meager flow,
Forks of Buffalo,
since laughter’s last echo.
Bye, bye, Blue Ridge,
bouncing footbridge,
your tadpoles ‘ve gotten big.
Three shallow fords more,
wildberry folklore, and
the closed-down corner store.
Sad, sad mountain shadows.
Oh, the ridge is so blue
since I lost the four of you.
NaPoWriMo#11~Write about something big. All four of my grandparents lived in the Blue Ridge Mountains by the Buffalo River, where wild berries and even wilder stories grew. I really miss all four of them.
Yard Sale of Thoughts 
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