Four years in the Valley

When I first arrived in the Valley
From Metropolitan Atlanta and the Empire state
It was dark as black powder,
Night-time in the Shenandoah
And the honest blue of the sky and the sweet cream clouds
Which crowned the emerald green of the grass feeding the cattle
Was hidden from my eyes
Until the next morning, when God himself
Tricked me again with a morning flow of thick fog
Which blanketed the old Confederate's campus
With an antique grey I wouldn't have expected
But which certainly provided an appropriate formal dress-coat
To the winding Victorian streets
Of Lexington, Virginia
Where Jackson had drilled his Rockbridge boys
And Lee had sternly lectured the remnant
Who would want nothing more, like me, than a glimpse
Of old Marse Robert on his dappled war charger, Traveller,
Seeking solace from the gentle rise of the dusty lanes
Hidden among the Blue Ridge foothills
Out in the country in Rockbridge County.