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.