1722 –In the Maine Woods, reflections on Kilrea

~ Poem by Alister McReynolds;

On this Spring day

I miss Kilrea

And our meeting-house

Just fornent The Diamond

I miss greeting the old boys

On the Fairhill

Of a Saturday.

Eighty years or so ago or so our people

Built Kilrea town

On a hill

After being hunted

From nearby Movanagher

When their houses, their school

Were all burned down.

Back then

The Mercers Company

Laid street plans and carefully designed

Kilrea gave new hope

To all who felt cast down

And so today

Far from the River Bann

Here on the banks of the *Kennebec

We too know the pain

The danger to life

In the pestilent Blockhouse

Where we shelter from

The constant humming

And death that suddenly strides

From the woods

We’ll stay put though

There is a living

From just cutting wood

*Carting it to the wharves

And shipping it to sell in Boston

And there is game

And corn aplenty

For this land is abundant.

Mind you it is difficult to call it our own

The French and the English folk demand

Their portion

And the Native people don’t want

To upsticks and abandon

 Nor be herded on.

But always we, and we alone

Remember Movanagher

And think long about Kilrea

And of home.

  ~ Poem by Alister McReynolds;

     *edit by JTMann