A Migrant Here

The river in it's flood waters of brown Flow bank high in the fields by the old town The town where he lived in as a boy There the best years of his life he did enjoy. The town he has not seen for forty years Old memories cause him to choke back the tears For bloom of youth and Seasons now long gone The nostalgia in his heart is living on. In the cemetery lay the remains of his wife She was the only true love of his life Their oldest grand-child a girl turned twenty in May And time as ever ticks and ticks away. He arrived in this Country in nineteen sixty three But a migrant here is all he will ever be The years have left him looking old and gray He will be seventy on his next birthday. The accent he brought with him from his Hometown far away Remains with him and with him it will stay Till to the scythe of the reaper he too will fall The journey through life in death ends for all.