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I read that when the ships first came
the scent of loam, sassafras and oak
blew a hundred miles from shore,
primeval growth long gone,
scoured to pasture, money but no sense
breaking ancient magic.
Then trade went to other towns -
mills by other rills; trees returned,
but second growth, lesser, unremarked.
Forever changed by fire and iron
the woodland people see
the loss of a living thing.
ten thousand small injuries,
Untitled, they went too.
Can you imagine those meadows
watered by tumbling streams,
where turtles play in marshlets.
bullfrogs preside unseen.
boulders here ten thousand years,
and canopies we will never see ?
Drifting misted valley airs,
moist, rich enough to bite
like current cake.
So close your eyes, dream
what was, might be.