The Emigree

• There was once a country, I left it as a child, but my memory of it is sunlight-clear
• It may be at war it may be sick with tyrants, but I am branded by an impression of sunlight
• The worst news I’ve received of it cannot break my original view, the bright,filled paperweight
• I comb its hair and love it, shining eyes. My city takes me dancing through the city of walls.