Dreams Of Woden Poem by Elliott Rosenberg

It was the summer of fifty-two,
James, Vernon and Donna held a dream,
To feast in Valhalla eternally,
To drink from the mead of poetry.

The cannons of Saint Eustatius welcome the Klondike railroad,
Woden births,
the festivity of Dutch Day sermonizes,
As Germanic settlers till the land.

A promised land of milk and honey,
Abiding citizens betroth,
Fires ensue,
Floods famish,
Seasons wither into each others arms.

Gods rapture reveals through a bountiful harvest,
The lord is pleased,
Farmers praise,
Plowman lay their ardor for resilience.

A new generation arises,
Children of a new age.
Offspring of technology,
Lacking social grace and awe.

The land is neglected,
Parched and arid,
Fruitless,
Pained,
Begging to be groomed.

And one day a drifter appeared,
To bless the land with grace,
countless stars fall from heaven,
To seed the land again.