What's so rare as a day in June Mid Kentucky Clover's sweet perfume. Blended with breezes in bluegrass high It's a touch of heaven from out of the sky.
What's so alluring as your beautiful hills With their clear cool streams and rippling rills. Here the black bass rise to a feathered bait And the lowly cat, a worm will take.
What's so enchanting as your hardwood trees After autumn's frost hath tinted their leaves All colors of the spectrum, red, purple and gold, Tis a sight to enjoy, a beauty to behold.
What's more thrilling than a Setter on a point And you kick out a partridge from his native haunt, He booms up quick and levels off in a coast. You forget his pretty song and It's "Quail-ontoast."
What's sweeter music 'neath a hunter's moon Than the baying hounds to a son of Boone. Sweet potatoes and possum is a tasty meal, Only the privileged of God partake of this deal.
Your Women, God bless them, are the true thoroughbreds. They are sound of limb and heart and head, Their confirmation and beauty the fairest of forty-eight And who can love like a Kentucky Kate.
Hospitality in Kentucky is something to remember. It's genuine in May August or December. And to the hill-folk, the land of my birth, God bless them all, they're the salt of the earth.
Surely God showered blessings on this state of ours With singing birds and blooming flowers. Soft sunshine hath kissed each son of her soil. Gentle rains and rich harvest rewards our toil.
Kentucky: We salute your hallowed ground, In a shack or a mansion great riches abound. We'll weep in our sorrow and laugh in our mirth And sleep the long-sleep in your good earth.
So, when the grim-reaper, with his cycle so keen. Comes to lay me low on this carpet of green, I shall not whimper nor Satan's darts will I duck For it's been heaven enough just to live in Kentuck.
Eighty-year-old J. O. Lewis wrote this poem to express typical sentiment about Appalachia. He works in his shop daily, and continues to be one of the most outstanding gunsmiths in the eastern United States.