Home is,
Muddy, slick banks of muddy little creeks,
That run into a muddy, mighty river.

Home is,
Cotton boils and cattle farms,
Brown arms and red necks.

Home is,
Summer from May to November,
Autumn that rolls right into Spring.

Home is,
Speakin’ slow and movin’ slow,
Even when we think quickly.

Home is,
Katydids and crickets and frogs,
Playin’ a nightly lullaby,
While mosquitoes and gnats,
Chase us in from our play.

Home is,
Granny’s gumbo,
Mammaw’s pimento and cheese,
Don’t forget Momma,
And that chicken and spaghetti.

Home is,
Magnolia blossoms,
And green, green trees.

Home is,
Humidity to cut with a knife,
And triple digit summers.

Home is, and will always be,
Sweet, sweet, South Mississippi.
Where ever I go, whatever I do,
She’ll still be here, for me to come back to.