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My Village

Mammy, I do know for certain
That I hate to go away!..
Understanding this was unthought-of,
But to you I need not to explain:
Even tho’ they are warm in winter,
Cities are but a concrete jungle,
I long for endless songs of crickets,
For fresh milk in clayware jugs!..
No matter how you slice it,
I’ll be always that country girl —
The lark’s notes and chimes entice me
Striking some deep chord in my soul…
Dragonflies criss-crossing the air,
Smell of ploughland drenched with dew,
Rustle of leaves — all I love and cherish,
That’s my life-breath and faithful Muse…
…When I’ll leave, keeping back my tears,
For a city that’s cold and grand,
Please do pray for me, mammy dear,
As I prayed in my native land.