From upon a lonely hillside, I hear the planes touch down
Their constant noise and rattle is the mark of my small town
A shipping yard and industrial center, the city loved by few
Is home to God’s blessed children, who dream of life anew
In Joseph’s sweet tradition they struggle for little pay
But understand their rewards to be realized one fine day
The town is Columbia’s crossing, the passage to the West
Built by calloused hands, settled by the nation’s best
My village boasts a proud story, a rich timeline of progression
But it has aged, grown weary, fallen into long recession
With thousands in diaspora, only the faithful remnant have stayed
Trying to rebuild from the groundwork that was long-ago laid
Efforts seem fruitless to bring back the prosperous time
When storefronts bustled and visitors need fear no crime
This village is mocked, laughed at, berated
Outsiders look in and see a city once great now degraded
But hark! Their cynical opinions are assuredly misguided
For only look closer and consider the naysayers chided
My town is a gem, the diamond in the north
A modern Bethlehem, its star still shines forth
Christ himself came from a town much like ours,
One free from wealth, prestige, and shining tall towers
In my people’s hearts, the spirit of morality exists
Even if the fall of property value still persists
This is the home of the worker, the downtrodden, the poor
A sanctuary for humility, modesty, faith, for ever more
So as I sit on this hillside, watching the planes come in
I pity those lost souls, who can’t see the beauty within.
- Kevin ‘17