CAPE COD

Pilgrims and pirates, nor’easters and whales,
The Cape’s seen them all, and stored up the tales
Of brown people who lived in its forests and thrived
For thousands of years ‘till white men arrived.
In 1620, from far, far away
A ship dropped anchor in Provincetown Bay.
Its name was Mayflower; pilgrims it bore
From distant Great Britain to Cape Cod’s shore.
They soon moved to Plymouth, across the bay,
And founded their colony there to stay.
But other whites came to the Cape’s lovely shore
And the natives' life was the same no more.
The trees were cut down to build houses and ships
Factories, stores and roads for land trips.
In those days, ships built on Cape Cod were the best
And its fishermen laid many a whale to rest.
Then a railroad was built up the Cape, mile by mile.
"Healthy progress," the residents thought for awhile.
The forests now gone, the land lay bare,
Exposed to the sea and the wind without care.
Slowly – or quickly – land washed away,
Replaced by sand and the waves’ salt spray.
Now bicycles run where trains used to go,
And forests and beaches are protected and grow.
Lighthouses still grace Cape Cod’s coast,
But tourists – not whales – support it the most!
The beaches are lovely; the harbors serene;
The villages quaint; the forests so green.
The flowers are bright; the mansions too fine.
The cottages small; the scenery divine.
But the crowds and the traffic are awful! Oh no! .
We're glad that we came. Now we're ready to go!

8/2/07 - mshr

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