Where the new wood grows,
out past Caesar’s Brook,
stands an old one who knows
how this world used to look.
How the sheep would chew,
and rest in the shade,
while the farmer would coo
’bout the progress he made.
How the walls went up
to keep livestock in,
forming borders to pup
all the dreams held within.
And how the boom fell,
and all went away,
forcing many to sell
or buy cattle and hay.
Lo, the empty fields,
no more sheep to keep,
no more need for high yields,
no more forest to reap.
And many took leave
in search of new land,
because one must believe
there’s soil for every plan.
But by some great luck
there was one treow left.
A keep after the ruck.
An arm for the bereft.
Ranging and stolid,
a lone wolf, some said,
it stood tall and solid,
waiting for what came next.
— ❧ —
Poetry Inspiration
Earlier this week I went on a little hike in search of a wolf tree, and after seeing it, I thought it was a very unique symbol that represented so much—what’s been lost over the years, what remains, and how much power there is in just one good solid anchor. For a little context (and history) on the New England Sheep Boom of the early 19th century, you can find a good account of it here.
And if you liked this poem and would like to see more, I hope you’ll head over to In Verse.