Dale Lloyd

In my youth, I couldn’t stay—

I left behind my yesterdays.

Strathcona – tiny hamlet – dusty street—

You could not bind my wandering feet.

I heard the city call my name—

It promised wealth, it whispered fame.

Through wind-swept streets by day and night,

I knocked on doors until, with knuckles bruised and sore, I realised there was no gain.

Lost among the pressing crowds,

where no one knew my name.

The noise—the ceaseless rolling sound—

up one street, another down.

There was a time I had a song—

The city took it; now it’s gone.

Oh, little Hamlet, I must return.

From the ashes of all I burned,

Resurrected, may I find the beauty I once left behind.