The turkey's nest was islanded with a fragrant swath , the “heft” of the crop noted and rejoiced over.

'Tis not your inky brows, your black silk hair, / Your bugle eyeballs, nor your cheek of cream / That can entame my spirits to your worship.

When his head nodded, the fire blazed in the blackness of his dreams and sent suncolored streaks racing back and forth between his mind and soul.

Petty is right that today’s country is rock-oriented, with old-timey instrumentation, like fiddle, slapped on as a folksy ornament — a little tip of the Stetson to tradition. He’s also right that George Jones and Buck Owens have lost their grip on the imaginations of today’s country artists, who look to other influences.