“Glory To Savannah”

Glory to the river,

rushing by,

creatures all throughout it,

a never ending flow of blue-greenish water.

Glory to the town,

a history book it portays,

long abandoned battlefields left for us to observe,

buildings still standing, 100 years old.

Glory to the yard sales,

oil dripping on a worn driveway,

the taste of salt water in your mouth,

claw marks on the trampoline,

toys scattered in the front yard,

clothes blowing in the wind.

Glory to party all nighters,

the sun burnt two year olds,

the cats with only three lives left,

the tree huggers,

the gangsters,

the vegetarians.

Glory to the drunk,

shootings every night,

the cursing, the yelling, the fighting.

Glory to the steaming hot days,

to humid to go outside,

strokes occuring left and right.

Glory to the constant sound of waves hitting the sand,

the steady beat of the can man,

the oh-so familiar song of the seagulls,

the man singing around the corner,

the church bells ringing every hour.

Give all the glory to the cobblestone roads,

the silver man,

the old oaks all in rows,

the steamboats.

Savannah

By: JESSE F.