that we had lost,then, through you, found or
the future ghost the one whose hand we will clasp
in a golden land at last, one day.
a rusty gate opens and closes
welcome cries but we can't hear
a pearl sunrise
falls over his mountain features
a face refined through time
made more fragile before the end
endurance itself.and home
made real again. for this, we weep.
we won't forget your blue hills.
they are- our own.
mary angela douglas 25 march 2016