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Southern Stories

Coming to the South, I wonder

where did all the stories go? 

Like a giant library

the marsh mud holds legends of old times 

the trees drink memories 

buried deep in the trunks of the great oaks 

hidden away 

Living history 

has died 

their footsteps have long been erased by the tides 

Were their deaths peaceful, I wonder? 

That there are no ghosts to haunt us 

with their history 

Drowned by petroleum spills

and dolled up as white sand beaches 

Faces changing beyond recognition 

© 2024 Marieke de Koker

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