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SONNET OF REGRET
by F. M. Kirk
It matters not, I Know, this is my
Beloved land.  It matters not, I Know.
That I hold sacred every spot where lie
Remains of those who died so long ago;
Who lie in peace close to the homes they loved.
It matters not that 'neath these age-old trees
High-minded men so eagerly once roved
In search of homes.  Far over distant seas
They came.  And here, they lived, And Heaven smiled.
For note how from Virgin Wilderness
They made a Garden; how they tamed the Wild.
And found in their new land happiness.
It matters not that all of this must go.
All my regrets-they matters not, I Know.