Petrified house

She sees the world
Through yellowing lace
The world hasn't seen
Her since seventy-eight
Except for the nephew
Who used to look in
To bring her
Her chocolate
And tonic and gin

She lives in one room
Of a mansion downtown
With nothing but strip bars
And strip malls around
It used to be three miles
To those big stone gates
'Til property taxes
Just whittled it away

She believes somehow
That nothing has changed
Even though Sherman
Left Georgia in flames
Cotton's still king
And the south didn't fall
As long as wisteria
Climbs up the wall

She won't read the paper
And won't watch the news
She thinks it's all lies
Made up by New York Jews
Her daddy said no matter
What the laws say
Down here we've always
Done things our own way

Some day
That petrified house
Will fall down
Like everything
It will return
To the ground
Whatever it
Stood for will
All be condensed
To one paragraph
On a plaque
By the fence