Drifting on soft clouds,
Lies a city of love.
Its frantic heart beat is that of a family.
A family of different races, times and places.
The walls surrounding my home,
Are not made of brick,
But of love and security.
Our city, inside of another,
Protects us from harm,
Supposting us.
If you listen closely,
You can almost hear the soft beat of a hummingbirds' wing.
Listen closer, you can hear the whispers of the leaves,
As they blow softly in the breeze.
This is my Utopia.
My home.
City of all cities.
Hahira may be the smallest city around;
But it makes up for what it lacks in size, in love.
You don't have to worry about drugs,
being sold on the corner of Main and Sicle St.
Laughter floats on the evenign breeze,
Along with the scent of the latest bonfire the church held.
Take a deep breath,
Inhale the sweet scent of lilacs and daisies.
Watch as the leaves on the willow,
down by Mr. Cranken's shop turn brilliant shades of the rainbow,
As fall approaches.
Ride down Main st.,
Past Joyce's Fried Chicken.
Watch the children play.
And the birds fly.
This is my Utopia.
My home above the skies.

