Across the sea to a barren land,

ten years an exile.

When we visited her home I saw

that part of me was there.

The Poles, the Irish, a deserted wife,

all familiar with rejection, were

among her forbears.

When I returned to my country

I hated it. But one year on

I could stand and watch the rocks and trees

and love its first people.

“If I went home things might be no different.”

“In the same way men ought to love their wives,

as they love their own bodies. In loving

his wife a man loves himself.”

“Where you go, I shall go, and where you

stay, I shall stay. Your people will be

my people, and your God my God. Where

you die, I shall die, and there be buried.”


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