Town of a flag
County of a flag
Standing in a state that's boasted six
I have labored in you
Fed you
But you did not value me
And no wonder
I am not the sort of person you would prize
Being at home more in city than in countryside
And you are of the country
Making much of the wilds barely tamed
Little restrained even now
After a hundred years and more
Though you make much of those
Who would have tamed it if they could
Calling yourself their head-place
Are you but a pillow that bids them to sleep?
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