Upon The Monuments

I found my ancestors,

And lit small candles

With tears within my eyes.

I spoke a few soft words to them —

Though our little bones

May rest in foreign soil,

All our souls will meet again.

Three friends came to the village

From Canada afar.

We gathered at the coffeehouse

And passed our days in joy.

Four bachelors arrived together,

And married men departed;

All four of us it seemed

Had come away as winners.

Meanwhile in the neighbouring village

Young girls were growing up;

They worked through hardship all day

And ate sweet pieces of baklava.

And in the evenings in the village,

Along the public road,

The young girls called out playfully,

And boys admired them like a feast.

We four young fellows wandered

Like wealthy Americans abroad,

Searching for a worthy housewife

None other could surpass.

For me it was my fortune

To marry Maria dear;

We loved one another deeply

And built a home together.

We held a traditional wedding,

The whole village invited —

With feasting, song, and dancing

That filled the air with joy.

Then we found ourselves in Canada

In the middle of winter;

And Marika’s life there

Was like an anemone in the wind.

Carelessly we left our parents,

Saying, “only ten more years.”

We promised we would soon return,

But life’s struggle delayed us.

When we settled back in Canada

Again in winter’s heart,

The cold was fierce and biting —

We began again from nothing.

We went to Eaton’s for shopping,

For spoons and forks to buy,

Beginning a new household

Amid endless falling snow.

We both worked hard together,

Just like all the others,

And always said one day

We would return to the village.

Three families lived together

In small and humble houses;

We helped one another always

And shared our joys and longings.