The Blue RIdge, hazy in the distance
Walls off the valley, bulwark against the outside
Cows stand like ancient sentinels
Waiting for history to happen again
Old schools float like islands in an ancient sea
Grounds still littered with grape and canister
They set their own rythyms
Cadences of a bygone era, steadfast
Bugles sing their songs day and night
Up and down the valley floor
Constant as the sun and moon
They are singing for ghosts
Reveille, first call, mess and taps
Melancholy, time upon time upon time
They call the ghosts of old soldiers
They grow fewer and softer
Sunday parades mollify the ghosts
Sabers flash, shakos flutter in the breeze
Drums roll, parents beam
Front Royal to Blacksburg, on all the islands
Pretty girls from fancy schools
Girls you can’t afford
Watch like girls always watch
Then dance with boys in blue and grey and green
The girls are perfect debs
The boys all spit and polish
Prideful and haughty
Heirs of a vanishing realm
The ghosts take us by the shoulders
“Oh Stop and listen to our tale.”
“There was good here. There was grace here.”
But they shot the albatross
The signs remained even then
The signs put the lie to it all
Unrepentant, put it all to the sword
“We reserve the right…”
And so the people were and they weren’t
And they did and they didn’t
And they would and they wouldn’t
Beautiful, she is marked with a scarlet letter
The girls walking on tartan carpets
Eating under crystal chandeliers
The boys polishing their brass
Drilling to ancient rhythms
The misty hills
The rolling rivers
Intoxicate you like a potion
You fall in love despite yourself
The girls grow old, they are your sisters
The cadets grow old, they are your brothers
The valley is eternal, bruised and beautiful
Easier to love with both eyes open
© Glenn R Keller 2021, All Rights Reserved
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