Who will cry for you, Caribou?

Who will cry for you, Caribou? Who will ease your pain?
You know I love you, little town in northern Maine.

At one time, you were whole … arteries going north and south, east and west.
O’er busy streets, cars and trucks did roll. Through years of time you stood the test.

We’d love to rove your vibrant streets, back and forth and up and down.
For movies or for treats, you were a lively sort of town.

There were clothing stores and soda shops to set our hearts aright …
A bowling alley that was tops … lots to do both day and night.

But then came the urban planners with bloody pencils and clipboards.
Arrogant, they had no manners and death was your reward.

In the middle of the town where streets once ranged,
A shoppers’ mall placed down. Forever you were changed.

But that was not enough a load for the pencils to impose.
For then they built a road, the village to bypass.

E’re long, no one came to Caribou, of its former self, but a shell.
Those who once said, “I love you,” chose other towns in which to shop and dwell.

But there are those who remember you when you were astir …
Normal, young and alive … Caribou … as once WE were.

Who will cry for you, Caribou? They who sleep ‘neath grassy knolls
Where bluebells grow and a church bell tolls.

David T. Hale
Palmer, Mass.