This place I learn, was once called Frogpond
Until Mr. Thomson brought the train right through town
No presumption of progress or high ideas of culture then, just crops and sweat and slavery’s shadow.
Then money road in on the railroads back
And changed all that.
Bustling bank managers and lofty tradesman
Dressed their pale wives in diamonds and paid their pennies to hear Blind Willy sing the blues.
But progress took it’s dollars back
as century turned again, freeways failed to follow track.
Main street storefronts stare vacantly at empty sidewalks.
And only the shadows are the same with the harsh demarcation of white and black.