Scarborough

By the Shrine of the Little
Flower ,
near the crumbling cliffs of clay
on the sky, sand, and blue water ,
I stopped with
a few words to say.
Where a cross sword
set in stone stands
on the expressway island
tall
and stone statue
in white flowing robe,
all sooted with grey,
kneels and clasps hands
in eternity of night and day .
Under the green and rising dome ,
a remembrance of those in the past
who struggled in the times
and lands far away.

By the home where
both the children
and the young men
once use to play,
there I stopped to catch
my final breath at last ,
and quietly drift away .