The Exile's Song Poem by Christian Muller

Few things can match the joy one feels when kin
Are found in foreign lands. It's not of blood
That we fair kinsmen make our bond. But in
The sod where we were grown. Soon comes a flood
Of talk we exiles talk. 'Hey mate, what town
Did you come from? ' - 'What school did you attend? '
'Oh I did go there once' - 'I've been around
Those parts before'. Perhaps you ken a friend
That shared a mutual bond. And for a time,
More brief than we would like, it feels as if
We're back at home. We both now hear the chime
Of long forgotten sounds. And catch the whiff
Of homely scents. Then soon as we did start
We travel back and lonely we depart.