At the base of the Smokey Mountains,

Gatlinburg you’ll find;

Gateway to the mountain top,

Roadways all inclined.

Music filled the streets at night,

Rocky Top and more;

Fiddles tempting banjo strings

With guitars at the core.

Gravy filled the breakfast plate,

And sausage clogged the veins;

Biscuits, eggs and coffee pots,

Bowls of grits and grains.

Every night a fire burned

And embers glowed ‘til dawn;

And lovers, young and innocent,

To only each were drawn.

Memories of another time

When love lived in the stars

Above the shag bark hickory

And long before the scars.