Non-residents

Some months and years ago we left

friends and family, we could not stay;

and going there sometimes we ache;

there was our Home, of which bereft

we will now be, always at bay.

 

Perceived by most as mad or brave,

we went like Cartier in his days;

recalling home, eager to make,

from then to forth, from breath to grave,

a side-way path with self-found ways.

 

So little time, so much to see,

still we settled – bills must be paid;

learned the culture, what we could take,

learned the language, the history;

in which tongue will our children play?

 

Here is our Home, and where we bide,

blending with years as odd mixtures,

we may ponder at our lives’ wake;

longing, and thrilled, we went, we tried!

Becoming for ever strangers…