the map is not the place

what boundaries we draw never seem quite real
the maps show facts that change with changing years
a rearrangement of folks' hopes and of their fears
the making of charts is done by sight and feel
those things we see are simple products of the deal
the colours are but clothing that truth wears
they change in a moment and the change brings tears
we hope to stand but soon find we've got to kneel
the places look the same when seen from outer space
a visitor from the far stars would note but little change
here on the ground though we know it's not the same
the lines are drawn we alter names of place
those forts we build are in each other's range
we're a domestic species but know that we're not tame