Hall of Trees

Driving across Mississippi
Is like driving through a hall of trees
Wonder what the natives
Made of these

Elegant, aristocratic,
Reaching for the sky
Rooted earthward yet giant
In my mind

I see longboats, spears,
Looms for something spinning,
Winning till the white man
Tore them down

And cutting through this sanctuary
We now have carved a road
Found a box to put the funny
Red men in

These ghosts with leaves and thistles
In the wind like arrows whistle
But there has been a crime
In their blue sky

These trees have seen it all
Know the Natchez, saw the fall
In this hall of trees I am small
But I drive in