Big Medicine

A poem of New England

New England breathes with fog oft filled with ghosts,
Whose battle, burial, and blood,
Doth baptize sacred white and treelined coast,
Those spirits lived before the flood.

The Narragansett ‘neath the Great Swamp lie,
So deep under that tall gray stone,
No rest for dead where Canonchet did die,
Just low the grumble, ground’s soft moan.

Bespoke of hidden horror that land did,
Of trembling haunting hands and things unseen.
When last I glanced upon those woods I hid,
To block from eyes the spirit scene.

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