The Islanders Lament

Like many a Newfoundlander I was raised along the Bay
Employment concerns meant I had to go away
Leaving the island and my only true home
to the city of glass, steel and fabricated stone

There are no fishermen or woodcutters to be found here
Or the spirit of community I hold so dear
I keep our island true to my heart
Saddened that we were compelled to make a new start

I watch the sea gulls soar in the sky
Wondering if to my home they do sometimes fly
And when the smog drifts to reveal the moon
I wonder will I ever go back home soon

The offerings of electrified motifs and architectural delights
Conceal the beauty of the stars that shimmer in the nights
The sun stays hidden under thick clouds of smog
The streets linger with their toxic residue fog

I close my eyes to see the ocean I once knew
Tasting the salt of the waters so blue
I search my mind for the memory of floral in bloom
For just a hint of natures delicate perfume

The forests here are merely manicured trees
Chemical treatments killed most of the bees
The grass rests on top of a cemented lawn
Watered by a timer at each mornings dawn

As a child I could drink from a brook
Catch a meal by using a hook
Eat shell fish taken when the tide was low
Picked berries from where they were found to grow

The fruit of the city is shipped and imported from far
Ripened in trucks parked on asphalt and tar
The fish frozen and packed a long time ago
Is what now I become accustomed to know


Written by Lynny William Carter
June 13th, 2011