There was a house, there on the corner,
That I heard was built in 1901;
But now that house is gone forever,
Destroyed by that son-of-a-builder's son.
That house was one of a few remaining
From an earlier time, and a much simpler one,
When only horses, drays, and buggies
Strolled among the hills of Arlington.
There wasn't always malls or traffic,
Or a parking lot where that brook had once run;
Or a tinseled high-rise grown from a graveyard,
Planted by that son-of-a-builder's son.
There aren't too many symbols standing,
Of man or nature's yesteryear's run;
Too few left to be rashly plucking,
Out from the hills of Arlington.
There's the campsite upon the river,
Where the Indians', and man's, life here begun.
400 years ago, they lived there;
And the trees, or ground, or streams they spoiled? Not one.
A primitive and idyllic life they led,
With respect for nature's and life's origins begun;
They beheld the past and earth as sacred,
Here among the hills of Arlington.
There's the spring and house adjoining,
A sylvan place, shaded by the sun;
Where a colonial farmer helped join a nation,
From where our present liberties begun.
That house has seen its finer moments,
Though, today, it's even called an "eyesore" by some;
It still had helped start this nation going,
Out from the hills of Arlington.
There's the fort, that was built here for the city;
Just earthworks, and weedy, and a trash heap for some.
Now, someone wants to put a townhouse on it;
Doesn't he realize the wrong that'd be done?
It's where the issues of slavery and country,
Where the Blue and the Gray had shed their lives' blood;
It's hallowed ground that we've been mistreating,
Here among the hills of Arlington.
There's a cemetery in one yard's clearing,
Behind the house of a forefather's son,
Who've been on the land for generations,
Whose titles to the land seem finally done.
His house and land were here forebearing;
They've set the standard, where his neighborhood's begun;
That plot possesses a preeminent position,
In among the hills of Arlington.
And what about that old, weathered barn?
Its boards are cracked, faded by the sun;
Many folks wonder when it'll be leveled;
It can serve no purpose to anyone.
What of the milk, and eggs, and chickens
That the barn provided, through rain and through sun?
It helped to nourish many and countless settlers,
Here among the hills of Arlington.
They're about to close that old theater,
In that old strip mall, from 1910 and 1;
Though its signs are dim, and paint is peeling,
And it seems as if its day is done.
It provided hope and grand diversion
During war and depression, and our own post-war run;
It has earned its right to stand unencumbered,
Here among the hills of Arlington.
Here and there, o'er hill and through valley,
An ox-path, or train track, or trolley did run,
And though it's now black-topped, or just plain plowed under,
What a wondrous thing those right-of-ways had done.
They helped to tie each hamlet together,
From Barcroft to Nauck, Bon Air and Clarendon;
With trolley and wire, with auto and train,
They united the hills of Arlington.
But it's been too late for many relics;
In the name of "progress", deceased, they'd become.
They've gone by the wayside, erased from existence,
By that greedy son-of-a-builder's son.
Too many folks have chased the "fast dollar",
Or they couldn't pay taxes, too high they'd become.
So they gave up their birthright, took off for new places,
Away from the hills of Arlington.
Those homes that they left, made of hard oak and maple,
Were built to stand proud, two hundred years and some;
Unlike today's brand, built only for profit,
And not to survive, even their first five-year run.
So, even as now, we look towards the future,
We should revere and respect, the past we come from.
'Cause it's only through the past that, we can reach the future,
Here among the hills of Arlington.
The author lives in Arlington. The poem was written on Aug. 18, 1995.