You're a cousin to the mountains,
and a sister to each pine,
you tremble like an ever-flowing glass of wine.
You like sand instead of carpets
with a thousand watts of sun,
and quick wingbeats in place of clocks
to tell your time.
You're at home on any hilltop,
but you cry on Ferris wheels,
and you lose yourself in other people's lives.
Oh. my Tennessee Madonna
country daughter of the plain,
your days revolve in crystal worlds
of falling rain.
My altar is your slanting knees
where I whisper my nightly thoughts,
yet I never fear the flame
that burns inside.
There are children lost inside of you
just waiting to be born
as a happy compromise
of you and me.
You're at home on any hilltop
but you cry on Ferris wheels,
and you lose yourself
in other people's lives.
Oh, my Tennessee Madonna
country daughter of the plain,
your days revolve in crystal worlds
of falling rain.