With bleeding gums from scurvy, liced and scabbed we,
the sea-sick, found our way to freedom from the belly
of the ships and built our life in hardship of the soil.
We fenced, we ditched, we broke the stones from fields.
The summers were too hot, the winters way too cold, but we
prospered and our children grew to be the backbone of the
west. But not for me. I longed for what I left, for woods and
lakes, for sound of brooks, for taste of apples and
for the language that my daughters cannot speak. It’s time
to rest, but I wonder how I can accept that I will
soon be buried in this soil, that differs from my blood.
Swedish Immigrant Augustus F. Sherman collection
—
February 17, 2017
Björn Rudbergs writings 
Wow! This gave me chills.. Those final lines are so affecting.
Some people transplant but their roots still long for the soil of home. Well done, Bjorn.
Oh this is lovely Bjorn 🙂 especially touched by these lines; “But not for me. I longed for what I left, for woods and lakes, for sound of brooks, and for taste of apples and for the language that my daughters cannot speak.”
There is so much sadness not in the struggle or the toil but in the hankering for motherland
Heartfelt!
Much love…
The last four lines hurt. One sacrifices so much in the name of freedom and a better future for self and for loved ones. But when the end is near, the heart and the blood and the bones yearn for the soil that birthed them.
I like that you didn’t sugarcoat the ache to be around what is most familiar. I feel for the protagonist, knowing that while she is satisfied her descendants have a place in this new country, she still does not feel this is her home.
Oh, yes I agree. I think that is why many immigrants settled in places that reminded them of the homeland… Great story-poem. I think not being able to speak your native tongue as often would be very difficult
I think the older you are when you leave a country, the more yearning you will feel. It must feel strange to not hear your language anymore.