The first day that we came we knew that here
was where the Fates intended we should be;
the subtle bludgeoning about the ears
besmeared an easy truth, we did not see
the hours of work required as reason to
decline. We worked for many months possessed,
restrained from rest by what we had to do,
thrust on by hereditary spirits obsessed.
Our forebears knew no less than we about
the trials we’d surely face when we embraced
their simple need to make the difference shout
with joy; achievements measured in the grace
of smiling faces at each work-day close
as petals of the scented bloodwood rose.
© 2 July 2007, I.D. Carswell