paid two bits and claimed the green land
which turned to sand and blew away.
Their great-grandchildren sat in bars,
-- peeling fibers cover the walls --
clutched yellowed deeds of faded days,
dare recall names long since buried.
Dreams and town, forgotten with a frown,
and old toiled farms raising dark
tailored by the "C's" became a park
planting trees over the shadows.
Crossing meadow into the wood
a flood of voices heard today,
their fizbees, grills and picnic goods,
the heap of human waste this day.
Assimilate and relocate,
but late, the shadows of warriors,
'thriving the heaps of human waste,
bless the old ward, the moistening ground.
The Spirits thought lost still remain
their domain is fixed forever.
They walk the way of salvation;
shun not their talk or their way.