Song of the Red Winged Black Bird

If I still remember the sites of Davenport,
The bouquets of wildflowers from the hills,
Or the smell of fresh cut hay and the song of the red winged black bird,
Will Davenport promise to remember me?

Will the fog in the valley remember when I gazed upon it lovingly from the hill,
Or the church where I worshiped still pray in my behalf,
Or the nearby creek whisper my name at night as it washes away another woman's tears?

If I reach back into my wandering heart for memories of those days,
Will the spirits of the saints who walked its fields and built its homes
Open their arms to me again to welcome my lingering soul
While I seek the stories of my past?

Will the fireflies flicker as bright for me by summer,
Or the moon rising behind the trees reflect upon the pond again for me,
Or the mountains to the south display their outlined peaks in my sight by winter?

If I remember the ease of laughter and the beauty of its children,
The rolling delicacy of its farms and the inspiration gained from its simplicity
Will it remember that I will always care, even after I have left?

Alice Elizabeth Cagle-Pisano, August 19, 2010