Sunday, September 8, 2013


Though the clock on their lives does keep ticking fast
Most migrants even in old age do retain memories of the past
Of the Homeland and the memories of there good and bad
Sometimes in nostalgic moments people do feel sad

I know this old fellow he is eighty three
Ten times a grandfather and an ex refugee
In the nineteen fifties his Homeland of Hungary he was forced to flee
Life's happier times  he did live for to see

The mother of his children Louise his  long time Aussie born wife passed on six years ago
And the seasons of time have become Lazlo's foe
The better years of life he surely has known
Yet he seems quite happy though living on his own

Out walking in the  town park off of high street
Lazlo is one that i often do meet
He tells me for the past he does not have any tears
And he has not been back to Hungary for twenty one years

As a naturalized Australian he  grows old and gray
And in the  Southern Land his  last remains will lay
Back in the mid fifties as a young refugee
The Land  of his birth he was forced for to flee.

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