Gray Lady Down

Photo by Nicole Logan on Unsplash

In Washington there is a town
Where Wishkah meets Chehalis
Where it rains so much you’re like to drown,
Always overcast for emphasis.

A place that once did booming trade
When trees were reaped like wheat
And they splash-dammed logs in big cascades
To the waiting merchant fleet.

When the sawmills sang their brazen tune,
Cutting logs to dimension,
Then life there seemed a holy boon.
Over funds there was no tension.

Cull logs were of value there,
Sold for pulp across the river.
The dreary rain and gloom they’d bear
When the paychecks were delivered.

But timber now no longer flows,
The saws in the mills are stilled,
The jobs are gone and the stores are closed
And all warmth in the place is chilled.

Oh, Aberdeen, poor Aberdeen!
Such promise you once showed.
You’ve promise yet beneath the sheen
That poverty bestowed.