A trunk of stories
Sir knight envisaged a Northern Kingdom
Through hard land a track born, braved and blazed.
With the shadows of a longer vision
A rail was routed, wrought and raised.
This conduit was heavily travelled
And agreements held high by believers.
But there were ugly costs in that channel,
Few achievers turned deceivers with fever.
In time the lane became consumed,
With stripping resources up and away.
A group of thieves had learned to use,
That passage as an excess highway.
Then along the pike they ran out of steam,
Ghost towns came quick through the air.
The line that lost its smoke and gleam,
No longer spurred for its Northern heirs.
Byway torn up, or else place, just scattered,
Grown over where nature had a dispute.
With failing vision it slipped into hazard,
Trail waning from scandals it broke from abuse.
No paths to dream of, for those in the North,
But strong stoics still work in this place
The new ways cut deep, choking rebirth,
How would the knight feel, now seeing today.
If you go looking for this rut gone wild.
There are stories to find as time permits.
But watch for thieves as you wake and idle.
Guard the North, or we’ll be left with just prints.