After the garrotte of the oppressor,
quartering, gauntlet and bludgeons,
came armies and builders of railways,
when Earth People had retreated
into pockets of resistance.
Europe’s hounded families
heaved across the Atlantic,
gambling on hopes and dreams,
copper cooking-pots,
bibles, linen, silver spoons,
oaken dressers salvaged
from the Great War, heirlooms.

Some lost their bearings
in the enigmatic grey-green expanse,
where beauty was concealed
under a mantle wider than their understanding.
Blasts scouring tablelands
swallowed moisture from ocean swells,
challenged rain clouds gathered over the Andes
awaiting right of passage.

Perhaps it was only
squatter’s jeers through cabin shutters
at those who lost their way
that made people doubt.
Many would thread their way back
to luminous northern cities,
shrugging their shoulders
at the enduring, waterless gale.
Only the hardy remained.
They had no means of going back,
nor a single love in their heart
wedded to their mother country.