I dream of a distant past
Of a land where I was born.
Rugged hills
And windswept street
Atlantic ocean, often
At my feet.
This land of my birth
Perhaps I shall see once more.
As I gaze upon this
Forest of green
And smell the salt air.
It reminds me of my
Emerald Isle
The place where I
Was born.
By
Preobrazhenskii © 2011
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