Central Village
Central Village, ah bitter-sweet your love
The golden sunset above
The black smoke of sugarcane burning
And the boy on Twickenham's mead yearning
Sometimes again like flocks of birds in flight
Across the evening sky
Memory comes winging at the edge of night
And old men only sigh
For all life treasures seem in the past, gone
And every new dawn
Is empty, but of the world's weariness. My pearl,
My diamond in the rough was she
The troubled, bright eye, beautiful girl
I did not know joy she brought to me
Despite your violent lanes, broken fences
You showed me life without gilt and pretenses
Copyright © David Smalling | Year Posted 2010
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