break great ragged holes
in the foggy dew,
prayers and protests rise from precious snow,
the blood of men
mingling with the blood of the land,
echoes in their descendants
lament lost cities –
cry, the beloved country,
for what might have been
cannot now be
Acknowledgement: The phrase ‘cry, the beloved country’ is taken with gratitude from the 1948 novel of the same title by Alan Paton. It is a favorite book of mine.
I would also like to include a link to the song referenced in line three. The song and its historical context are the primary inspiration for this poem.
© Samuel Birrer and Serendipity, 2017.