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To travel from a far, early thirties

(when the dictator waved at the village)

and to arrive in a damp wilderness

of another country, another world,

was to voyage beyond palm lines and sun charts.

Amongst charades of mistimed pregnancies

and ill-matched parents had been the comforts

and earth grace of goats and grandmother's arms.

The wisdom of breathing cowshed manure

to save a tender soul and soiled lungs

had helped inhale a faith in nature's ways.

And had served to sustain a body's need

from succumbing to taunting ravages:

succour to answer mysteries too often

clouded and confused in the minds of men

- it was always ever the men she thought.

Choice was always determined by others:

others' money and others' body part.

Such a crude way of determining worth.

Time later, in a cold English garden

cloistered with ivy and ghost memories,

she stood sprite and stoical, and noted

the incomprehension in neighbours' eyes.

And wondered why God destined her for this.

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