There are no mountains 
On the sky-rim here, no.
Not much offered to the gauzy eye, 
Squat and squinting,
On the lookout for orogenies 
And irruptions. It’s a flat place.

For the Puritans, the most attractive features of this,
The nearer coast, was respite, a chance to get away from it all,
Arable land less the masses which tended to teem. What they
Wanted was mostly a place to die alone, together, or to wait
At any rate, for the date of biblically preordained death. By accident, 
The soil left them too much surplus and toleration ended up as
A sound manner to run a society, but it needn’t have turned out

Like this. They could’ve taken their time, 
Subsisting on chaffish maize 
And melting into their rocks, 
Plymouth and otherwise. 
Maybe they could’ve
Had their time taken away from them. 
You’ve a preference?