Ormewood Park: Glenwood Avenue and the BeltLine

Lyrics

[Intro]

You, BeltLine Southside, ribbon of gravel and promise,
stitching through Ormewood's quiet veins.

[Verse 1]
I walk your edge where Boulevard Crossing meets the grass,
that 22-acre breath, soccer fields damp at 7 AM,
smell of cut grass and morning mist, 65 degrees in spring.
Robert Orme, you English ghost from the 1890s,
your speculative dirt turned bungalow blocks,
Ormewood Terrace with creaky porch swings,
facing oaks that remember before the churn.

[Chorus]
Oh, trail, you pull the city closer,
feet crunching gravel near United Avenue,
renamed in 2017's heated June meeting,
from Confederate shadows to something undivided.
You hold the quiet against the rush,
Glenwood's evening hum spilling over.

[Verse 2]
At Wrecking Bar Brewpub, 292 Moreland,
Victorian bones filled with hoppy air at 6 PM,
smoked brisket and laughter, 80 degrees sticky summer.
Next door, Hodgepodge Coffeehouse at 720,
cozy steam rising as bikes lean against your rail.
You, connector, drawing East Atlanta Village's grit,
Grant Park's history pressing in from the west.

[Bridge]

But in the bungalow quiet, south of Kirkwood,
east of Grant, you churn the soil,
property taxes spiking like your path's incline.
What of the families renamed with the avenue,
African American voices lost in the minutes of that 2017 council hall?
Workers who laid your segments in 2020 dust,
immigrant hands unnamed in the celebration.

[Verse 3]
Brownwood Park's oaks shade the playground swings,
dog walkers at dawn, your extension whispering change.
Ormewood Methodist on the terrace, red brick from the early 1900s,
organs echoing weddings against your encroaching buzz.
You, artery of progress, do you feel the resistance?
The neighborhood's quiet character, holding like dew on grass.

[Outro]

Trail, you bind us,
in this southeast pocket, named for a distant speculator.
Rest now, in the 58-degree autumn morning crunch.
Ormewood holds you, intimate and unsparing.