Up the holler
John Clare Stokes
So grateful in the fall of twenty twelve
We were able to take mamma to see
The old holler where she came to be
As we rode to Crumpler she would tell
now that was where Evelyn and I
took that poor snake and burnt it
And there is where we paid with script
Where up Crumpler Mountain we’d slip
There’s the Methodist Church where Rev Looney
first suggested I should attend Asbury
Where Luke and I were later married
Where Gerald always held in my heart a tune
The old whistle post just beyond the church
Still towered rusting, once calling miners home
Out from the Pocahontas hills into the stucco homes
Or roused at night, the wailing telling that deep down something
had gone terribly wrong
Turning to return to Bluefield then Princeton
Rounding slowly another steep switch back
In my imagination I could clearly see
Her daddy’s bus full of miners and one
found kitty named Black Daisy
Bringing it home for his sweet Clara Jean.
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