Smoky's the Second Prettiest Face

May, July, August, I go a far distance,

Across rivers and cities,

Another state, another entrance,

Toward mountain peaks so pretty.

Smoky's the second prettiest face.

KC to SL, I-70, end to end,

Stopping for air mid-way

Elevation ascends and descends,

When following seemingly endless highways.

A road so far away.

But this summer feels different;

Asheville has fallen, now non-existent,

from Helene and Milton's mass destruction,

when their gazing eyes caused total obstruction.

I hope they are okay.

Fourteen days, two weeks,

In a state of beaches, warmth, and peaks,

There are a few things my mind will never lose sight of,

and one's the sunset, on Wrightsville Beach, North Carolina.

Two is smoky. 

Three is implied.

Four is for every rest stop.

Five is for every ear pop,

Six is beauty that never stops,

And with roads that don't end,

and views that never cease,

seven is for every good song.

(yes that's a we came as romans reference)