The last chord drifts away
from the old school hall
soon all will go their
separate ways
Celebrations over
for achievements
medals
and first place
The old language,
older than what I write in,
echoes from the halls
native or learnt
The sun shone down
as the ferries sailed
carrying the festival
away
The language remains
between sea and ocean
the culture continues
from lighthouse to lighthouse
I see the land
I see the winter
the last tourists have gone
from the isles of the west.
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