Damascus--A Mountain Story

Where Beaverdam meets the Laurel, there's a little country town,
with its church spires looking upward and its mountains looking down.
They've been looking down for ages, I suppose since time began,
and they've secretly recorded the changing ways of man.

Walk the ridges round Damascus, as I have since just a lad;
look and listen to their story, sometimes pleasant, sometimes sad.
They saw the rivers carve the gorges and erosion carve the plain;
they've seen nature at her wildest, lightening, wind and snow and rain.

They saw men with bows and arrows who lived in tents of skins,
and hunted game and gathered food as the autumn frost begins.
Who left no trash or litter, or buildings to decay;
Only campfire ash and arrowheads show they even passed this way.

No one really owns the mountains, they're like the sea and sky and sun;
Though deeds and claims may contradict, they belong to everyone.
But once a Scotsman bought the mountains, miles of timber sight unseen,
And his relatives (the Roosevelts) came briefly on the scene.

Then the mountains saw men come with axes and shiny saws of steel,
And down came mighty oaks and hemlocks leaving scars that never heal.
Then came mills to saw the lumber and more men to work the mills,
And the whistle of a locomotive soon echoed through the hills.

The mountains have a trace of iron ore which was seen by some who came,
and dreams of future steel mills gave the newborn town its name,
After the ancient Syrian capitol, famed for swords of finest steel;
so the mountains helped to name the town they had long helped to conceal.

Now the trains and mills have vanished and no chemicals taint the streams,
and the iron ore and manganese were only empty dreams.
But once more men are coming, from north and south and everywhere,
not to spoil, or make their fortunes, but to breathe the mountain air.

And to hike the trails and fish the streams and meet some friendly folk;
the "Friendliest Town" that Damascus claims is really not a joke.
So let's welcome them and greet them, like a friend we're glad to see,
and the mountains may start to smile again, and that's good enough for me.

Benjamin Adams, Sr