Rebirth

where men worked tired hours

weight of the years digging

shovels bigger than city houses

only the dust of history remains.

where lunchboxes sat in the windy sun,

a grey soil remains,

a mineral face.

it whistles like a piper’s tune-

that wind from nowhere 

where tails ride out the breezes

and birds dive into blue holes,

and history changes-

rebirth.