A Migrant In His Seventies Poem by Francis Duggan

A Migrant In His Seventies



In his nostalgic flights of fancy he sees them every day
The old hills by his Hometown twelve thousand miles away
Far north of this southern city even as the crow does fly
Thousands of leagues of ocean thousands of miles of sky.

He will always be a migrant in this far Southern Land
And his accent some people find hard to understand
His English is not perfect since it is not his native tongue
Though he migrated in his twenties when he was fit and young.

His wife with the departed in eternal rest she lay
She died after a brief illness two years ago last May
His daughter and his son in law and their children he seldom see from him they live far away
Though they travel eight hours by road to be with him on Christmas Day.

With old timers from his Homeland he always socialize
And reminiscing of the Homeland to old memories give rise
A migrant in his seventies in fancy he can hear and see
The river from the foothills ever babbling towards the sea.

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