On a day such as this when spring is loud
In skies azure blue and emerald glistening,
Memories stir of that which I am proud;
My place, people and past. Who's listening?
For now they are gone, and a ruin stands
Where once life curled upward from altars
In sweet-smelling billows across the lands
Of my fading forefathers. Who do I call to
On a day such as this
Where robins fly?
What I silently miss
Is that ghostly cry:
"Englalandum!"
Memories stir of that which I am proud;
My place, people and past. Who's listening?
For now they are gone, and a ruin stands
Where once life curled upward from altars
In sweet-smelling billows across the lands
Of my fading forefathers. Who do I call to
On a day such as this
Where robins fly?
What I silently miss
Is that ghostly cry:
"Englalandum!"
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