There were accords left unsigned.
How shy we all seemed at the start.
Logs rolling in the distance left much
Unsaid. Speculation planted hope in
Building a new frontier. “Less said,
The better,” signaled the magistrate.
“The original natives endlessly complained,
Until we disposed of them.” The remainders
Became wayward servants.
We on occasion wear their outfits,
Enjoy some of their recipes, never ask
For seconds though, out of respect.