Brasstown Bald/Enotah

The ghosts of the Cherokee peoples
Still call from Enotah,
Their tear flowers still coat
These ancient trails.

The highways snake up over and through
The Blue Ridges in this part of Georgia,
And the tourists curse the hills,
That climb Brasstown Bald.

They don’t stop to marvel
At her forest covered sides,
They just hurry on,
Looking for the other side.

The old ways are gone
And no one stops to listen
To the voices of nature
Whispering in the wind.

And the ghosts still call;
Enotah protects the spirits
Of the old ones
Who walk these ancient trails.