by Carol Smith

This tale’s about a hamlet that
Serenely undeveloped sat
Upon the lovely Westside Shore
Where less was not considered poor

Unlike its neighbors to the east
For years it let no builders feast
Like cannibals upon its space
To change its charming small town face

But even this most pleasant nook
Could not maintain its village look
When those beneath the wily guise
Of progress plotted its demise

For greed’s self-serving destiny
Cares not when it leaves you and me
Frustrated in the crowded dust
Of its unregulated lust

So places where the locals shopped
Ate burgers and to music rocked
Were left obscurely in the wake
Of building just for profit’s sake

And if the nature of this tale
Continues to grow out of scale
We may find next to any door
A low-class, high-rise now can soar!