Here is the letter you asked for in the pop song
(Fichead bliadnha, twenty years ago, thirty –
I’m sorry I took so long – I didn’t know where you lived)
Here in the rainy dawn filled with wounding words
Old wrongs, the rain drumming cadences
Of the lost work songs
War of wind in the branches, almost I can hear
The children singing clattering pebbles in the surf
Mouth music lilting list of the places we fled
No more, no more, no more
Mournful refrain in the rainy spring daybreak.
Here is the letter you asked for in your song.
Here are the times, sweet sheltered places
In the sagebrush, exposés of fading farm towns
Memoranda of the drowned lands, the fleeing
People settled down, until dust and wind
Drive us on again. Here is the résumé of our fears
Secret dispatches from the land of promise
Promised land, land of the big idea,
Land of the second chance installment plan
Here is the catalog of our tears
Fond recollection of the vanished place
Tedious remembrances of trudging
Dusty roads possessions pressing sweaty
Against our backs
Here is the burden of our hope
Here is the letter you asked for in your song.
Author: Duncan MacNae
Exiled Gael, scion of the Dust Bowl, dweller within Divine Grace, admirer of mountains, I have made my peace with trout and the starlings. Looking for a river and healing trees.
duncanmacduncan5@gmail.com
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