I love to drive the byways
Of the counties of my youth
Where the Blue Ridge rises steeply
And the hollers hold streams roiling in the spring
Where white pines blend with rhododendrons
And hickories caress poplars and ginseng grows below
Where stone bridges span the bottoms and high vistas wait at tops
Where Forty Fords hauled moonshine and peach brandy to West Virginia miners in my youth
Yes I love to drive through Patrick, Floyd, Montgomery when my hood is pointing north
Or Giles into Pulaski on to Wythe and Carol when I am beckoned south
Sometimes Henry north through Franklin into Roanoke I drive
There stills were thick in Prohibition
And long after truth be known
Where the Parkway ribbons east to west along the very top
Built in the Depression to make work for desperate men
And creating a masterpiece of engineering in the bargain
Where fiddles blend with guitars and banjo players string along
Bibbed overalls are fashion and bare feet acceptable
And the pickup drivers greet you with a finger lifted subtly off the wheel