Each leaf, each least bit of straw
clung to her wet clothes as she walked the old path
and tried to sing in the rising wind.
“Shule aroon” was blown back into her mouth--she blinked
with wild tears but kept singing. For her there no way home,
only this muddy road and the hope of another place.
Her village was gone, having lost to the hunger,
but still she lived and still she sang, walking toward the Western shore.
I wonder now, what kept her walking? And even more I wonder,
from what part of the human heart came that song?
