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Monroe County: Fertile Crescent Of West Virginia
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Smoke rose from cabins, soil warm beneath the hand
Muskets fired at Cook's Fort, guarding this good land
Sweet Springs lifted sulphur mist into the air
Union's courthouse stood with hope, stone proud and fair
Hoofbeats rolled through Wolf Creek's fields of golden grain
Cannon smoke hung low in hills that knew the pain
Indian Creek's old bridge held firm through storm and fight
Still the valley kept its song through darkest night
Monroe, Monroe, the valley sings through every year
With Sunday bells and fiddle strings that draw us near
From rich, warm soil to mountain sky, her stories rise
A gentle land where roots run deep and never die
Rehoboth Church stood strong, its logs by weather worn
Asbury spoke clear at dawn on Sunday morn
Anne Royall wrote of Sweet Springs light in simple lines
The valley held her stories close among the pines
A diamond flashed at Brush Creek's bend in morning sun
Jones' gem shone bright where horse and hillside run
Andrew Rowan carried word across the world afar
Yet always spoke of home beneath Monroe's bright star
Fiddles played with Tex McGuire warm in the square
Woodsmoke drifted Alderson nights, pies filled the air
Soft summer parades and small town fairs lit valley light
At Hanging Rock the raptors soar in steady flight
Monroe, Monroe, the valley sings through every year
With Sunday bells and fiddle strings that draw us near
From rich, warm soil to mountain sky, her stories rise
A gentle land where roots run deep and never die
A soft night hymn with lanterns glowing in the dark
A quiet light that guides the hills like one small spark
In Monroe's fields the old and young lift one clear voice
A timeless song the whole state knows, a steady choice
Monroe, Monroe, the valley sings through every year
With Sunday bells and fiddle strings that draw us near
From rich, warm soil to mountain sky, her stories rise
A gentle land where roots run deep and never die
Monroe, Monroe, the valley sings through every year