The Immigrant

We arrived in Southampton one April morn                                        

They dressed in thick coats, despite the season                

They looked as dreich as the dawn

Not a smile or a laugh, they had no reason

Then travel by train to Edinburgh

Pastures rich and green, the rain drizzling down the window

How I missed the red earth, the searing sun and the kookaburra

My aching heart, where will it go

Starting school, I couldn’t understand the lingo

Then it snowed for the very first time

Still yearning for Australia, the wildlife, the dingo

 The kids were helpful and friendly, but alien rhyme

We bought a house, if you could call it that

A matchbox, with a handkerchief lawn

Concrete hell, not fit for a rat

Designed by town planners, oh they should mourn

Civilisation, how can they call it that

From school straight to welfare

From children to mothers, why do they do that?

No work, no laughter, no future, no hope, does anybody care?

©Mary Chandler, 2015