In skies azure blue and emerald glistening, Memories stir of that which I am proud; My place, people and past. Who's listening? For now they are gone, and a ruin stands Where once life curled upward from altars In sweet-smelling billows across the lands Of my fading forefathers. Who do I call to On a day such as this Where robins fly? What I silently miss Is that ghostly cry: "Englalandum!"