Here you’ll find no slickers
Only miners
With blackened face
Hurried to get to working
Pulling graphite from the clay
Working for the company
From which we pull our name
But up here we don’t find many
In Aurora or Long lake
Really only loggers
Or maybe miners
With blackened face.

At the bottom of the lake
You’ll find weeds and junk we
Toss and refuse to take stake;
Plants whose skunky,
Offending odor relates
The distorted world
The drunks see;
And the memories of late
Dreams abruptly
Abandoned in the lake.

But there you’ll also find my heart
In downtown Fondy,
At the farthest end of the lake.

Through the thick of the thistles
Y’all see through
To the U.P.
But take a minute,
Take a breath,
And see Forest County.

It’s more than trees. It’s more than bark.
It’s more than leaves.
Where do I start?
It’s my home: these twigs and branches.
Leave the woods,
And you’ll find ranches.
It’s classic cars
And Fall cash raffles,
Bowling alleys,
And lumber castles.

Anything you’d want or need,
You’d find in Forest
If not for the trees.