Lone Star Nation

Cracked plains were what we returned to
Coming back from a trip
And bone-dry grass riddled with fire ants
was more familiar than trees and hills.
We would drive on roads smooth as flight
Before we became Yankees.
Before we learned to tolerate the
Jostling cracked pavement.

We would smile and welcome all
With open hearth and open table. 

We would eat our breakfast big,
Our steaks fried,
Our potatoes mashed,
And our gravy made with grease and flour.

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