Ballad of a Fading Railroad Town as it Reinvents Itself

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At each end of every street in town
Carrizo grasses grow
Stalks bend in subjugation
When ere the winds might blow.

As a small town it is subject
To ‘small town’ clichés and views
There’s no such thing as privacy
They know the things you do.

Some folks were born and raised here
Some folks just pass through
Authors, artists, and photographers
Come do the things they do.

Some stay awhile and then move on
The pace of life too slow
Those folks are used to city life
This is not the life they know.

Professionals, doctors, warriors
They’re the ones who stick the best
They come with nothing left to prove, and
They’re ready for a rest.

As a small town it is subject
To ‘small town’ clichés and views
There’s no such thing as privacy
They know the things you do.

It takes time to be accepted
By some folks living here
Invite them up to rest on your porch
Offer them a beer.

Be careful of the things you say
Never choose a side
Be open, warm, and friendly
Tolerate, abide.

‘Cause, as a small town it is subject
To ‘small town’ clichés and views
There’s no such thing as privacy
They know the things you do.

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