LONGING FOR SWEDEN
I stand
here and gaze at the Swedish coast
and long
for its mountains and skerries.
My heart is
jumpy, it flutters almost,
wants to be
on the first of the ferries
to banish all that pains
me
let birchtree groves
sustain me
where smiling girls
endear...
but I am stuck right here
if
not I’ll end up sea-sick.
It feels
just like seeing the far promised land
all flowing
with milk and with money,
where life
the ragings of time can withstand
and where
Bellman’s songs are like honey
where lingon sprigs
assorted
in birchtree groves are
sported
but I am stuck right here
a quayside overseer
if
not I’ll end up sea-sick.
I stand in
a country neurotic and small
where people
are smiling and crazy.
The Swedes
do a great deal we can’t do at all,
they’re so
neutral and not ’cos they’re lazy
and their sound limbs
displaying
in birchtree groves are
playing
they’re brimful of ideas
while I just fade out here
if
not I’ll end up sea-sick.
My ashes
shall sail back to Sweden’s land
be
scattered in every direction
so I’ll be
transported from strand to strand
and maybe
at last find perfection
where roots can thrive and
flourish
in birchtree groves that
nourish
but till that day is near
I guess I’m stuck right
here
if
not I’ll end up sea-sick.
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