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.