Night Poem, February 28, 2016

These few hills are now dotted with houses and lots
The work of our fathers
Rectangles of brick and mortar, shingled roofs
Solid, stolid, warm and dry
All now past their prime
But there were some who came before
The barest evidence still exists:

A stone gateway and a lane that turns
Beneath the shade of old lindens

One Queen Anne mansion with a Dutch balcony
And a third-floor ballroom with windows full west

A church built of sandstone quarried from the ridge above

The last remnant of the old college
Red bricks that were once mud in the river below
Falling grounds that were once tended gardens
A wall of hemlocks that shade the west lawn

These were built to another vision
Not for mere utility
They were the markings of men who looked above
They are shells now
Nobility without means
And will soon disappear.

Copyright 2016

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