Long hunger and loneliness of abandonment,
Silent bells, prayers dwindle in the old stone church
Hope almost extinguished. The people
Scattered on the wind, spindrift blowing along the empty beach.
Shell of sheiling husk of houses ghost of old songs
What response from the cloud carrying sky?
Silent multitudes gathered teaming around the glowing screen.
Who will restore the holy places?
Who will build up broken walls?
Who will sing forgotten songs?
The arms that lifted the stones
The voices that sang the waves and chanted
The power of wind and storm
Are sent across seas and time, lying silent
under alien stones, strange trees, different waters.
Will they come again?
Gather stones, rally wind, brave seas, restore empty places
Fill them with children and the sound of work.
Long and hard the dead hand drove us
Long and far, and hard
To these dusty lands where there is no sea
No old songs but the cheap commercial jingle,
No work except the job
Half filling pockets with debased coin
From the Land of the Big Idea
But we could take back a thousand islands with our love
Which we have forgotten
In our strength
Which we have neglected
With our voices
New and old breaking into vanished 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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