Submitted March 30, 2010

Proud Old Town
 
The whistle stops in old Grand Falls,
As paper-making makes last calls;
A century of it sputters out,
But memories last, without a doubt.
 
A paper-trail has met its end,
As, thus, it hovered, round the bend;
But when it came, its vengeance hits,
Like any other ton of bricks.
 
Those paper-makers of its mill,
Can’t fathom that it’s finally still;
A past and present looming, late,
Grand Falls-Windsor frets its fate.
 
Seeing forest for the trees,
It isn’t yet upon its knees;
Determined, thus, to turn that bend,
This proud old town, its way, will wend.   Submitted By: NULL