How Green Is My Valley
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"So, the 'Land of my Fathers' is actually the 'Land of my Mothers'! A fact that fails to make it feel anything less than my heartland to me. And it is more than 'of my mothers' because it is 'of my mother's' - my maternal family - though sadly there are none left that I know of as alive today. They only live on in my memory." - Allen Ansell Just how green is my valley below those dark satanic hills? How many familial bones lay there molding to greyish dust? Do the words of my forefathers echo on beyond my ancient head... so that future ears clearly hear what wisdom they actually said? I long to see the rain fall on those grey slag built mountains, where trees are straggly specimens - sometimes misted by the clouds so low that their moist kiss remains on my upward stretching hands. It's where the belly trembles and my heartache truly expands. But how much better would it be were this a sundrenched paradise, where everything was plentiful; where everyone was fulfilled and could afford their daily bread, where cries of pain became instead joyful smiles with ease instilled? © Allen Ansell 2023
Thoughtful and wonderful poem.
You can certainly see your writing skills in your work. All the time go after your heart.
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