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    An old poem

    Monday, January 5, 2009, 1:05 PM [General]

    I just posted a message to a friend here on Bnet...and then remembered something she had mentioned in a post a few weeks ago. I then remembered  this old poem that was once so dear to me. I haven't thought about it in such a long time. I once copied it for someone very important to me...a good memory about someone I lost twenty-five years ago. Thank you dear friend.
    371d36d75e05eda735858f8e467be99c

    Who Are My People

    Rosa Zagnoni Marinoni  

    My people? Who are they?
    I went into the church where the congregation
    Worshiped my God. Were they my people?
    I felt no kinship to them as they knelt there.

    My people! Where are they?
    I went into the land where I was born,
    Where men spoke my language...
    I was a stranger there.
    ‘My people,’ my soul cried. ‘Who are my people?’

    Last night in the rain I met an old man
    Who spoke a language I do not speak,
    Which marked him as one who does not know my God.
    With apologetic smile he offered me
    The shelter of his patched umbrella.
    I met his eyes... And then I knew...

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