Folks say the Alabama Moon
Loves to hug these Tuscaloosa trees
You got to see it . . . to believe it
A glow rests within the branches
Before it lifts to bright the sky
Any kind of Southern night
Likes to dance beneath the spotlight
As though this beam that’s streaming down
Lights softly on our ground dressing up all Earthly things around
Just long enough to leave a silver screen impression
Showing magic of the moment from some distant lunar sphere
Owl voices asking – ‘who goes there!’
Dogs howl, but who knows why?
Perhaps, they’re singing with the crickets
Or scared of fleeting firefly’s
Folks say the Alabama Moon
Loves to hug these Tuscaloosa trees
You got to see it . . . to believe it
A glow rests within the branches
Before it lifts to bright the sky