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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.
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