The Call


The dew glistens as the raven soars
The magic reigns as the drops fall
The sky calls the mountains to rise
Towering with majestic power
The babbling brook recalls the tribes of old
Long gone, long gone
Buried
The earth carries the generations of ages
The refuge of stories untold
Isolated
Depths of paradise hidden with the sweet air of eagles' breathe
Echoes of centuries dance alive
Traditions transfused through the veins of ancient noble culture
Laments of mourning awakens the soul
The of call of the motherland haunts
Relentlessly drawing near

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This Poems Story

I am a first generation Albanian American. These words describe what I feel when I ponder the first time I stepped foot on the mountains of Albania, the land of my father and many members of our family were forced to flee in search of freedom.