Sonnet for the Old Country

I never learned your language, though I tried
It more than once: cassette tapes, then CDs.
Each time I started strong, and then it died;
It seems that distance weakens family trees.
And thick as blood can be, it can be thinned
By years in isolation from the heart,
And one by one the notebooks were all binned,
Repeating their refrain: one more false start.

But though my tongue shrinks yet from all the twirls
And twists that you demand, still I can hear
The singing of the water as it swirls,
The whisper of the trees as I grow near.
And as the sun’s rays make the ripples glisten,
Speak to me of my father’s land. I’ll listen.
24/03/2008