Shush Now Little Baby… Its 1AM In Dixie
 
Its One AM in Dixie on a hot, hot summer’s night.
Thunderstorms hit and miss, teasing the full moons light.
Tree frogs gloat with gregarious glee with the coming of the rain.
And with summers smells drifting in from the wood with senses slain.
 
Oh hot’ and humid Dixie the land to which my old ancestors came.
Oh this land where the sweat of many a brow shared in both joy and pain.
The trees here were cleared; the swamps and its glorious forest tamed.
Lives grew from these early few, now there are too many to be named.

Oh how I love Dixie in the summertime with its laid back Southern charm.
Its days are long and hazy, its heat and humidity more than slightly warm.
Dogs lie sleeping in the coolness of a giant oaks enormous stretching shade.
Old men gather in the parks to play checkers and children on corners sell lemonade.

The days are so long and go on end; the fields are now ripe with tomatoes and summer corn.

Yet the night does come mixed sometimes with the quick sweet coolness of an evening storm.

The soft silence soon gives way to the creeping, crawling creatures of the sultry summer night.

Its one AM and I too begin to sing, Its one AM in Dixie and all is well with life.

J. Allen Wilson © 2007