08/29/2026
I read this poem and it is such a well written and inspiring read that I thought I would share with you all. Most of us grew up listening to, watching or at least knew who this wonderful woman was.
If Every State Had a Dolly
In Memory of Dolly Parton
By Patrick H. Epperson — The Hillbilly Poet
The mountains woke much quieter
the morning Dolly died,
as though the Smokies bowed their heads
and Tennessee had cried.
A porch light dimmed in Sevier County,
a lonesome church bell rang,
and heaven gained the sweetest voice
these Appalachian mountains sang.
But she was more than rhinestones,
more than golden hair and fame;
more than songs the whole world knew
before they knew her name.
She was a little mountain girl
who knew what hunger meant,
and when the world gave wealth to her,
she knew where it was sent.
She placed a book in children’s hands
and taught their dreams to grow,
because her daddy could not read—
a hurt she came to know.
So page by page and child by child,
her love crossed every mile;
and somewhere, every night on Earth,
she helped a young heart smile.
When fire came down the mountainside
and families lost their homes,
she did not send them empty words
from somewhere safe and known.
She called those hurting souls “my people,”
then stood beside them there,
and proved that love means more than grief—
it means to help and share.
She gave to heal the suffering,
she gave to open doors;
she gave the poor a place to stand
and children something more.
She brought the world to Tennessee
but never sold its soul;
she raised her people as she rose—
and carried them all whole.
If every state had one like her,
what kind of land might be?
One heart that saw the overlooked
in every community.
One soul who used her fortune
not to build a higher wall,
but fashioned it into a bridge
with room enough for all.
The world would shine much brighter then,
and fewer hearts would break;
a child would hold tomorrow
with every book they’d take.
A hungry home would find a meal,
the fallen find a hand,
and kindness would be something done—
not merely something planned.
No, there will never be another;
God made just one, it seems.
One coat of many colors
stitched with faith and mountain dreams.
But perhaps she left instructions
in each loving thing she’d done:
that we don’t need another Dolly
if her heart lives on in everyone.
So let the Smoky Mountains mourn her.
Let their morning mist appear.
Let it settle like a veil of lace
upon the hills she held so dear.
And when the evening sun descends
and crowns those ridges gold,
we’ll hear her in the mountain wind
just like the days of old.
For stars may leave the earthly stage,
but love does not depart.
Dolly left the world her music—
and gave her people all her heart.
