Beyond the ruined tower on the hill, looking over lonely mountains
Beyond the fallen croft, woods growing up through the hearth
Beyond the abandoned schoolhouse leaning empty in the wheatfield
Beyond drowned towns, groves of our ancestors
Beyond that nameless place in the fir wood,
Shining with salal and huckleberry
Laid low, obliterated, erased by the chainsaws
Beyond impossible promises mocking us
Yellowing newspapers, political pamphlets,
Books of forward looking poetry
Worn out shoes, junk autos, broken kitchen appliances
Beyond you, beyond me
Beyond the limits granted by power
Rises new strength, new nation, new people in an old place
Rises kindness, fulfilment, meaning, a place in the world
Above the wreck of history rises my country that could be.
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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