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                                          A Village for Our Exile

Far is that City of God for which we hope
Here the cities of man in which we live
Glorious, but still only refugee camps:
Constantinople, Athens, London, Rome

Give us for our exile a village instead
A pub, a library, a shop, a little school
Cows and sheep grazing on the grass of the commons
A hay wain lumbering through the summer stream

Draught horses drinking from the little rill
In the ford below the slow-clacking mill

(Cf. John Constable, “The Hay Wain”)