Cumberland Wild Horses

Lyrics

[Intro]

Lucy Carnegie, I whisper your name to the dunes,
where your horses roam free, descendants of Spanish ghosts.

[Verse 1]
On Cumberland's edge, September 21, 1996,
the First African Baptist Church hides in palmetto shade.
John and Carolyn slip vows under clapboard eaves,
while feral hooves press sand near Dungeness ruins.
The air clings, 85 degrees, humid like a lover's breath,
salt marsh mud rising pungent at low tide.

[Chorus]
Oh, wild one, with mane tangled in live oak,
your eyes hold the island's secrets,
from Carnegie's Plum Orchard halls,
walnut panels and that rare swimming pool,
to the tabby walls crumbling since 1959.
Run with me, through the marsh grass,
where Little Black followed rangers for handouts.

[Verse 2]
Ferry from St. Marys cuts the sound, 45 minutes slow,
landing at Greyfield Inn, where shrimp and grits wait
on the wraparound porch, overlooking trembling earth.
Bicycles lean rusty against trunks, trails stretch 17 miles.
Dawn light silhouettes you on the beach,
musky scent carried on Atlantic breeze.

[Bridge]

Lucy, 1845 to 1916, you willed this sanctuary,
after Thomas died in 1887, age 42 for you then.
John said, we chose this to be alone,
but the horses watch, untamed witnesses.
What gaps in the record, the unnamed builders,
enslaved hands raising Dungeness in early 1800s.

[Verse 3]
Plum Orchard's grand library whispers of George,
your son, in Georgian Revival stone.
Far north, the chapel where rings exchanged,
and south, ruins frame the marsh like bones.
Hoof prints mark the sand, evidence of 150 souls,
not native, but left by settlers long gone.

[Outro]

Cumberland, largest barrier, hold your wild hearts close,
feral and free, in the golden haze.