Here in New England
We know the old growth around which entire towns are built
and the second growth
pushing quite intentionally through stone walls
And the self-consciously placed foreign junk
That is here because it looks good
To somebody from somewhere else again.
Here in New England
Our money is on the pines
The oaks
The sycamores
The hemlock
The maples
That can outlast the big winds
And the nonsense
And will require a town meeting
Before they might be felled
And not without a damned good reason
(And death is the only one)
Because pretty is nothing 
Alongside
Outliving the biggest wind.