Sugar Fields




Sugar Fields :


Treetalk and windsong are
The language of my mother
Her music does not leave me.


Let me taste again the cane
The syrup of the earth
Sugarfields were once my home.


I would lie down in the fields
And never get up again
(Tree talk and wind song are the language of my mother. Sugar fields are my home.)


The leaves go on whispering secrets
As the wind blows a tune in the grass
My mother’s voice is in the fields.
This music cannot leave me.


Barbara Mahone


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