Donate to support our work
Once everything was bigand you were small,but year after year your shadow crept up the wall and you grew tall.
Spices and gold once cast a spellOn bearded men in caravels.
New World New World cried historyOld World Old World sighed every tree.
Spring is baby,bright, fresh and new,gurgling with the melting snow,singing with the first cuckoo.
Eyes as wide as continents brim wih the water between.
Seeks a different future. Looks back on what has been.
We don' have a Springtime like some folkWho live in dem colder place,but we have a time when de soft rain come,an' tease open de seedcaseo' de poincianna and de trumpet tree,