Mist Of Granta Stream
© Surazeus
2018 09 10
Though I have never been to Granta Stream
that winds among green hills of Anglo Isle,
I hear its music singing in my dream
which calls out to this long-wandering exile.
Shall I return to mists of Avalon
with eager hope on swift cloud-leaping plane
though I left by boat one long-faded dawn
to seek my fortune in the pouring rain?
I landed on lush Massachusetts shore
and traveled west almost four hundred years,
forever lingering in wind-creaking door
while dreaming of her ardent woods with tears.
How much life has changed since I left England,
castles and cathedrals blasted by wars,
huge cities sprawling across Fairyland,
wise horses replaced by swift motor cars.
Though I still wander wide America,
constructing new home wherever I roam,
I study ancient esoterica
to revive the spirit of Greece and Rome.
On endless journey through this evening land
I search for spirit of those misty shores
where I tended apple trees with firm hand
and danced with fairies on wild moon-lit moors.
I bake apple pies in the lone farm house
and play guitar on the porch in twilight,
then cuddle in the moonlight with my spouse
who shares my ache of joy for this new night.
Though I may soon walk along Granta Stream,
feeling my ancestors glow in my heart,
I return to my American dream
to continue plotting world history chart.
© Surazeus
2018 09 10
Though I have never been to Granta Stream
that winds among green hills of Anglo Isle,
I hear its music singing in my dream
which calls out to this long-wandering exile.
Shall I return to mists of Avalon
with eager hope on swift cloud-leaping plane
though I left by boat one long-faded dawn
to seek my fortune in the pouring rain?
I landed on lush Massachusetts shore
and traveled west almost four hundred years,
forever lingering in wind-creaking door
while dreaming of her ardent woods with tears.
How much life has changed since I left England,
castles and cathedrals blasted by wars,
huge cities sprawling across Fairyland,
wise horses replaced by swift motor cars.
Though I still wander wide America,
constructing new home wherever I roam,
I study ancient esoterica
to revive the spirit of Greece and Rome.
On endless journey through this evening land
I search for spirit of those misty shores
where I tended apple trees with firm hand
and danced with fairies on wild moon-lit moors.
I bake apple pies in the lone farm house
and play guitar on the porch in twilight,
then cuddle in the moonlight with my spouse
who shares my ache of joy for this new night.
Though I may soon walk along Granta Stream,
feeling my ancestors glow in my heart,
I return to my American dream
to continue plotting world history chart.
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