Wednesday, February 22, 2006


Down in the swamps where I was reared
There was only one creature I truly feared;
Not the bull gator nor the panther nor the bear,
But the beady-eyed mocassin slithering there.

Down in the cypress where I dwell,
We know the cottonmouth by his smell;
Stench like a cucumber turning rotten
Get a whiff once and it’s not forgotten.

Cottonmouth mocassin could be anywhere,
In the dark, dark water or his muddy lair;
By a pool where the matted moss overhangs,
Death is waiting in his fangs.

Down in the swamps where I grew up
It was hard for a boy to have a pup;
The mocassin would strike and the gator would chomp
Any little dog in the Big Cypress Swamp.

Down in the cypress where I live
The swamp has a lot of good to give;
There’s peace and plenty but make no mistake,
we fear the bite of the mocassin snake.

Stephen Brooke ©2006

I don't quite know what got into me...I hear a lot of song lyrics of this ilk from my Fellow Floridian Folkies and generally turn up my nose at 'em. This is something I composed while on the road -- probably shoulda been paying attention to the Interstate traffic instead of having my head fulla words!

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