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Well beyond one hundred feet below
until about eighty years ago
sat a little southern textile town
and it sits there still, only drowned

It drew its power from the river
running looms made the old mill quiver
a mill, houses, school and church
a little store and river birch

Each week they'd work for six full days
amid machines, loud noise and cotton haze
Sundays were church, picnics and baseball games
all knew the players and their names

These workers came down from the hollows
jobs drew them in like barns draw swallows
to have steady pay and a home was good
so they left their small farms where they stood

A set routine made the years fly
families were raised and time passed by
they thought that's how it'd always be
just one thing they failed to foresee

Progress demanded more electricity
with lines running far as you can see
so plans were laid to build a lake
no matter how much land it'd take

Hence the village met its end
the people scattered to the wind
now the buildings house just varied fishes
who poke among the broken dishes

They say that on a moonless night
when stars give off the only light
distant turbines form a current, deep
when almost everyone's asleep

while mist drifts like a forlorn spirit
if all is quiet you can still hear it
the deep tones from the water swell
of the drowned town's old church bell

Style / type: 
Structured: Western
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there are 4 reservoirs within 30 miles of here ranging from 25000-55000 acres in size. There was more than one town inundated with their construction. You can still see the submerged forests and a few structures on fishing sonar as you pass over them..............stan

author comment

now I'll need a bigger hat for swollen head lol.............stan

author comment

you're not talking about Venice........yet lol.Happy you enjoyed it................stan

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