"Withhold Your Judgment"– A Poem

Editor's Note: This poem was penned by local retiree Tom McComb.
It first began making the rounds in July of '07.
And a very prescient little poem it is.

“Withhold your judgment”
She pleafully asked.
That we should, say I.
‘Till Blue Hole’s black
The Cypress green
And wells have all run dry.

‘Till charm is gone
And traffic’s jammed
To the Junction and beyond.
‘Till honking horns
And screeching brakes
Go on from dusk to dawn.

‘Till tourists ask,
With some disdain,
“Where’s gone the town pristine?”
“No place to park,
No place to pee,
No welcome mat for me.”

Make new rules,
Throw out the old,
Be sure you get your way,
And woe to those
Whose ideas cross
He who has the say.

“Withhold your judgment”
She pleafully asked.
That we should, say I.
‘Till Blue Hole’s black
The Cypress green
And wells have all run dry.