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You who are new here,
whose mothers crossed the ocean
on the Mayflower,
whose fathers flew across the waves
on jet planes;
you who write poems
about Persephone and Thor;
who sing of Saints and Seekers
born in foreign lands:
do you ever listen
for the heartbeats of our Heroes?
Do you ever hear
the voices of the Old Ones
singing in the West Wind?
Do you ever hear
their feet dancing on long grasses?
Do they ever come to you:
trailing dust from comets,
trailing light from sunbeams,
singing songs of wonder
through your New Lands?
They have often come to me:
with eyes like evening stars,
with hair like meadow grass.
They often speak to me:
calling in the West Wind,
whispering with rustling leaves.
They often come to me:
trailing dust from comets,
trailing light from sunbeams,
singing songs of wonder,
inviting me to follow
where their windsteps
part the grasses
through my Home Land.
