Colin F. Jones


I was not born here, though here I might die,
For ‘tis here my shadow is affixed by family roots,
And in this hallowed ground my parents lie,
Where death denying life wins its disputes.
Yet I have known the cold of English frosts,
And seen the Robin Red Breast on the snow,
There too I saw the bluebells as I crossed,
The fields where buttercups and daisies grow.
In the Malaysian Jungles I learnt my trade,
But there is nothing left there of me to show,
And though such memories never fade,
I left not a trace of me in Vietnam you know.
But here where I wallow in freedom and peace,
I shall claim the plot of ground I lease.