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In memory of Jo Crawford
Travellers can find New England
in quaint moments of the year,
snow drifts lining old church steeples,
or maples snagging rainbows on the fly,
But she was New England all the time.
in memorable lobster dinners
along a rocky Down East coast,
or on village greens no less tidy
than a thrifty Yankee mind,
But she was New England all the time.
through fields turned gold with pumpkins,
many miles from Harvard Yard,
and onto revered battlefields
with the stonewalls that you’ll find.
But she was New England all the time.
Travelling once half-way
round the earth, she still
remained at home, standing
with brave Anne Hutchinson
or falling at Concord Bridge,
maybe fighting alongside Garrison,
or sorting cans on Food Bank trips.
No, she was never part-time.
She is always the perfect rhyme.
She was New England all the time.
This poem was written for Jo's 75th birthday on January 2, 2001.
It was revised after her death in July 2015.