The West Virginia hills, oh, how barren

And how damned!

They are being stripped and plundered

By the money hungry band.

They are not concerned with beauty

Nor the Great Almighty’s scheme

That Man must work with Nature

To perpetuate the scene

Where are all our lofty summits

So majestic and so grand,

And the lovely virgin forests

That once graced our native land?

Naked hillsides, empty bird’s nests,

Dirty streams are everywhere,

And the dead cannot lie safely

In the Earth they thought was theirs.

Who will be the benefactors

When the future makes it clear

That the damming of Cheat River

Once more robs the Mountaineer?

Is it any wonder then

That our hearts with anger fill

As we now behold the spoilage

Of our West Virginia Hills? |

"Go and vote. Be patriotic,

It’s your duty,"we are told

So we do and find out quickly

Once again our rights are sold.

If we can’t trust those elected

To protect our native wealth,

We must find a working method

To repel their use of stealth.

No one person has the answer

Tho our monster has a name.

"Greed" is what we call him;

He admits no sin or shame.

Those concerned with West Virginia

Must unite to save our state.

We cannot afford lip service

Of the kind we seem to rate.

For no matter where we see it,

Brown and barren, and more still

Of these ravished wastelands;

We won’t even have a hill! |

From scalped rim the blue ridge stretch

violet mist draped towards Trout Valley

from Kennison Mountain and Bushy Ridge

designated by rustic timber company plaque-

behind out back, in shale at highwall base

the rustic timber company pine- seedlings,

hostages of stupidity,

half-dead issue of our greed,

are now over a quarter century old. |

As we walk this hallowed and hollowed ground

we feel the crucifixion of soil

and the cruel fixations of man

hellbent on manipulating.

The rock has been rolled

from the entrance,

but no angel appears

to proclaim resurrection.

There will be no miracles today, k. c.

Without trees to absorb them

the unnatural echoes of our barren cries

bounce off our naked disgrace and shame

only to rattle like snakes

between the lichenless stones.

With each stunned step on solemn shale

we unearth our ugly nakedness;

wish to hide our genitals,

and cover our consciousness,

with indigenous sticks and soft wet leaves ...

but there are nonesuch to be found

Eden is no more |