Gentler times I have known
With unease but a tremor
With youth as my temper
And future untapped

Many years further
Down a track of fading fortunes,
A dimming of the goals
And a dulling of the aims

My ancestral home
Yet I stand on alien soil
My roots are not spreading
And my mistrust cries listen

This a watershed of country
Man and woman all alike
From the abyss we must turn
Or in the ashes surely die.