I did not mean to love you;
We left you behind,
(Yes, driven out),
And I, now a century later,
Am surely a child of the Mountains.

I did not mean to love you;
I knew those burdened with your prophesy,
(Though it was not mine)
And intent on healing,
I would not harbor such malice.

No, I did not mean to love you;
But your green hills felt natural,
You whispered--hospitable and warm--
In spite of progress--
In spite of strangers.

And as I knew you then,
Did you too know me?
And that inevitable return?
No, it will not be as alien
Nor as stranger to a foreign land.

05/02/2007

Author's Note: Impressions and memories for Elias Bowen and Cynthia Harrington.

Posted on 05/02/2007
Copyright © 2024 Leonard M Hawkes