GREETINGS TO MY NATIVE LAND
The day is full of scent and piercing light
I am blinded by the beauty of the morn,
Upon the fields now restless waves alight
Of grains that from this fertile land were born.
My native land! I wish my soul could swell
With a tourist’s joy and nothing else beside.
To think is loathsome . . . Perhaps it is as well
That to this land my heart strings are not tied.
I greet it not with love but with a sneer!
A local townsman burdened with his own weight
Approaches slowly in his Sunday gear,
With his heavy breathing, overfattened mate . . .
It is quite likely they were born and reared
Here, where they spent their blunt-edged joys and strife.
Peopled few homes with a progeny they steered
Until they too were capable of life . . .
And when in years will end their earthly toil
In peace, contentment they will close their eyes
And gratefully, this bit of native soil
Their elements in death will fertilize . . .
PATHLESS JOURNEY
Disgust with my inaction e’er increases
For work I ne’er had love or high esteem.
Oh if I could destroy and tear to pieces
Each obligation, aim, or wasted dream.
To start anew . . . ’twould be a vain endeavor
When disappointment curses all I do . .
And when a hand, no sooner raised, falls ever
Back in my lap . . . ere it can work anew . . .
And this I know . . . Were I born a woman instead . .
I would expose my cheeks to the world’s sleet . . .
With a brazen smile and skirts raised o’er my head
I would go and sell my body in the street . . .
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