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Rated: E · Poetry · History · #2231294
This is about a small village in Illinois and its most famous citizen.

In a way, it never seems to change,
This simple cluster of houses, with a garage
and convience store all there is along
the west side of the meandering Rock.

There are cars passing by,
but that’s how it is
In this wide spot in the road.
But once there was a man..

A man with a sturdy white house
And a shop in the shade trees
Forging plows and shoeing horses
The village smithy working on a plow.

A plow that would conquer
The prairie’s rich dark soil
Today the shop in the quiet village
Is uncovered like King Tut’s tomb.

In that shade, the boy who polished
His mother’s needles toiled to shape
The plow that opened the prairie.

The tidy little homestead is still there.
The blacksmith shop now functions
To show how Mr. Deere did it in the day.

The great bend in the Rock was once
a vacation spot, drawing a future genius’ family.
A busy place with mills and stores and a hotel.

But alas, the breakthrough was too big
For the little village, and Mr. Deere moved on,
Returning in the summertime to his old homestead.

They all moved on and left a quiet place
With some houses, a few garages,
A concieience store and a church
That couldn’t be a church until the
Builder was paid.

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