Eurasian Years

Once, when I was a lively young babe,
I dreamt of frosted evergreens,
Of firs and bees and acorn trees,
All patterned in a glade.

The days were young and wild and free,
The summers cool and fresh.
And I would sit beneath a tree,
Consuming apple flesh.

But soon the days came to an end,
Away from home I go.
Farewell dear Sarah! Farewell dear Thomas!
I hope it wasn't so!

I came to a country, a foreign land,
In summeres hot and dry.
Where winter bears no snow at all
'Neath gray and cloudy skies.

And I would sit in beige and green,
Under a flag of Gold and Blue,
And wait for kids to talk to me,
In a language I never knew.

The days passed by in monotony,
In this land that I once knew,
But I have come from the cold west,
So 'n southeast I was new,

I met a few good and loyal friends,
Then life wasn't so bad.
And from the horrors os six and seven,
I wasn't half that sad.

Then once on the seventeenth night of July,
A spell of magic broke the air,
And sought him in the weaving web,
Of happiness and despair

But in this bed of scarlet roses,
Where forgotten dreams hang on its thorns,
Despite home aches, pain and unfair defeat,
I'm still happy I was born.

And so concludes my poem here,
As all of you may see.
A Eurasian child of East and West.
The mystery, of me.