WHO ARE MY PEOPLE
ROZA ZAGNONI MARINONI
MY PEOPLE? who are they?
I went into church where the congregation
worshiped my God. Were they my people?
I felt no kinship to them as they knelt there.
My People! Where are they?
I went into the land where I was born,
Where men spoke my language...
I was a stranger there.
"My people", my soul cried " who are my people"
Last night in the rain I met an old man
who spoke a language I do not speak,
which marked him as one does not know my God.
with apologetic smile he offered me
The shelter of his patched umbrella.
I met his eyes...And then I knew...
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