"Poland is my Heart's Home."

...

Poland is my heart's home.

Though I know not why I love it so—

The tragedies, the comedies, the sorrowful sounds—

Though I know not why I love it so—

The distant histories and dire defeats—

Poland is my heart's home.

...

Calling from some crying corner of my heart,

The shadowed, secluded soulful pulse of Poland pounds.

The screeching violins of gypsies in the streets,

The huddled crowds of workers in the snowy alleys,

The heroic, towing steeples, and quaint, crowded houses

Littering the sprawling streets—Poland is my heart's home.

...

Ringing, rousing, riveting drums of victory,

Soulful, hopeless hymns that burn your heart with reflective loss,

The homeward sounds that sound the home you've never known,

The home you always feel flowing through your veins,

Flitting through your frame, but never showing for your eyes.

Poland is my heart's home.

...

Homesick for a place I've never been—

A place I do not seem to know, or recognize at times—

Crying for a place that I have no right to love,

A place that is not my home of body or mind,

A place that does not show upon my face or in my blood—yet

Poland is my heart's home.

...

Perhaps the playful dances of its minor keys,

Or its harried, heartfelt marches, mazurkas—each lofty Polonaise—

Seem to speak of more than just a land, more than just a name;

Perhaps the solidarity of such Romantic and reflective dreams

Dwell within my heart as more than just an isolated country.

Poland is my heart's home. Poland is my heart's distant dream.