Florida Progress It's Called Poem by Esther Stenstrom

Houses built around the lake
With "no trespassing" signs
Where was once our swimming hole
Country Club meets and dines
From a cool, clear, crystal spring
We drew our water to drink
Waste was dumped from paper mills
and made the whole place stink
This all sounds crude, and so it is
But the facts remain the same
Memories are all that we have left
No one willing to take the blame
Changes, progress, or so they say
But I have a different mind
I liked it just the way it was
Florida, my home, pristine - kind