An Old and Future Town

Rochester,

an old town as the Yankees say,

an upstart in the Old World’s eyes,

a town established on the Hill

that grew up in the Norway Plains,

whose Patriarch is buried on the Hill,

whose image dominates the Central Square;

Rochester,

a bit of land where once dwelt the Natives,

invaded by the folk from overseas,

who farmed the land and built a town upon it,

to which the French and others came in need of work,

and settled down and made the place their own.

Rochester,

where two rivers flowing toward the sea

provided mighty power that would turn the working wheels,

and so the mills were built and grew and flourished,

and so began the years of much prosperity;

and the town became a city,

and the city grew in strength,

and came to be the place that we have come to know.

Rochester,

from which the mills have left,

in which Downtown struggles, almost dies,

in which a new reality must come to be.

Rochester,

our town,

my town,

a town of changing personality,

whose past is truly rich and often strange,

whose past, alas, is all too little known.

Shall we cast that past behind us and go on?

Shall we forget the roots from which we’ve sprung?

Shall we let that past enchain us,

define our nature now and evermore?

Ah, no!

Let us deeply learn and strongly love our history.

Let us build upon what we’ve received.

Let us use the gifts that we’ve been given,

and with our memories filled with what has gone before

turn our eyes to the years that lie ahead,

and step by step carry to the future

the dreams that rise within our hearts.

Rochester!

----------Ed Pacht, Rochester Poet Laureate, April 21, 2022