by Susan Mugridge
Oct/Nov 2007
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He came to land In Canada A land of promise Yet on threshold he died Lamented. Where were the myriads, Officials, passers by, Those of Polish speech To give him comfort? He alone, for hours and hours Pacing, weary, friendless; His mother requesting, searching But unsatisfied. “He is not here,” she is told, “Go home.” She drove to find a ‘note’: “Pick up your relative. He is found.” She returned to find He had died. |