MOUNT CARMEL

Far off any heavy traveled road
sits a long lost southern town.
It carries cotton's heavy load
with sagging roofs that almost frown.

The miles which once turned white in fall
from fields of cotton to be picked
now see no burst bolls at all.
Times now gone as their clock ticked.

Naught but pines and pastures grow
as the old gin slowly declines.
Through its door only winds go
its walls scaled by kudzu vines.

The cross roads at the old town's heart,
which never had too many stores,
has seen them all slowly depart
with "closed" signs posted on their doors.

Once tidy homes are empty now,
blank windows stare with forlorn eyes.
Verandas sagging with with time's bow
and lost dreams I now realize.

I stand transfixed as the sun sets
where folks once worked and children played
nearly overcome with vague regrets
seeing how hopes sometimes fade.