Suwannee Sigao
JohnClare Stokes
I know that dwelling beneath
The ground, are the thriving,
Bustling silent towns,
The grist mill grinding up
The corn, the calves upon
The hill being born,
Brick makers firing up
The kilns, the black smiths
Pounding on the steel
The one law in the town
To keep silent
For Indians are seeking
The hidden silver
DeSoto's are ever digging
For the hidden gold
Keep the secret
Of your borders
Worship quietly you
Saturday Adventist
Be as the Methodists
Stoic and silently staid
Not giving away
The place where the
Seminole would wade
To raid the offering made
To silence the shaped note
Song
From lips of those
Told o'er and o'er
Keep silent
Keep still
Until they pass beyond
The ever grinding mill.
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