Dreams of My Home

We were not born in this land,
We were born from this land.
Our souls carved from the granite cliff faces
By the blood sweat and tears of our forefathers.

Our heartbeat echos the crash and thunder
Of the frigid North Atlantic as she sprays
salt mist kisses on the faces of those who
Pull a livelihood d from he bosom.

And yet, as I lay in my bed in this distant land
She still calls to me in the night.
In my dreams I see the cold craggy shorelines,
The sun splitting the clouds, bringing new life to this land.
And as the ice packs s converge in the bays, tickles and coves,
The hills bare witness to the arrival of spring.