A second homeland
An azure sky and a bright golden Sun -
a cooling breeze caressing my hair -
cotton wool clouds suspended on air
and gulls calling mates unseen -
how like my homeland this place is -
and how peaceful ’tis withal.
Eighty miles only from the parallel at nought
and seven thousand east of home -
yet thunder clouds climb o’er the distant horizon,
their progress marking late afternoon -
and this is how I have always known life on a hot Summer’s day at home,
although ten miles only away from this place
lies the busy bustling town
where all things move quickly in urgent commotion,
throbbing and pulsating with unceasing noise.
Who could seriously think that this place is forsaken,
and all who live herewithin forsaken too?
But forsaken they are by both God and man
to live in a vacuum of harlots and beer.
And so, as the gathering thunderclouds do darken the afternoon sky,
is my life clouded by this existence that some call living
and, as surely as the rains must fall
’neath the gathering burden of heavenly waters,
so is it that I must also break down,
leaving only passing wisps of spume -
the remnants of what was once my life.