Like kings we sat, food in hand
As by us platforms sped
Then farmlands, forests, rivers and homesteads
Inside we could have been Viennese
Outside mudhuts and dry lakes and no hospitals for miles
What’s in a name if you’re a country?
There’s the name they call you
Like Sweden or Greenland or Germany
And there is what you call yourself
Like Sverige, like Kalalit Nunaat and
Deutschland uber Alles.
I strive to recognise my own land
There is the one I know
And the one that will one day be
Like a scene from The Langoliers
When time hasn’t quite arrived yet
Though it shall, yes it shall
And then it will be gone as well
Like World Cups and long-lost summer holiday,
Pear-picking in June is fun but
Fruit once picked, may not stay.
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