A fable of migration

Though they would with tears,
I would,
with an ecstatic soul,
through the
womb of an old country,
call it an embarking,
a ceremony of
euphoric roses –
red, silent, explosions;
the spangled skies,
the glistening shores,
a blanket over now dis-quieted bones.

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2 thoughts on “A fable of migration

Thank you :-)

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