The Kurpie

The farms of Northern Poland have never seen opulence.

The first men who gathered wild honey from the thick of trees
were alone and broke,
but brave and strong—
which mattered more.

The backs that broke the forest into field
were tired and poor,
but free and in love—
which mattered more.

The beets that made the borscht so red
were cheap and dirty,
but grew fast and stored well—
which mattered more.

My Great Grandmother who left this town, 19 years old
had nothing,
but hope—
which mattered more.

By Karen E Farrell, New Gloucester

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