Poetry, Uncategorized

MAMA’S DREAMLAND

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She loves those hills of rolling green,

And the barren parched-grey scrub:

That rust-red earth makes her dream,

Along a simple clichéd theme,

Of people dancing hand in hand

Across her ancient, sun-drenched land.

The golden beaches fringed with palms

Where people sway with open arms

To the rhythm of the sea

From today until eternity.

Her snowy peaks in cobalt skies

Will echo sounds of happy cries,

Of children dancing, always free,

Free from tribal tyranny.

Whirling, twirling, love as one,

Smiles beneath the yellow sun,

Or laughing in the rain,

And setting free the pain.

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