A warm welcome is a lovely thing,
It stills the flitting heart for just a breath,
Enough to take the sight in new,
Of foreign spires and stern faced peaks,
Of brickwork to the dance of ancient bells,
I've found a place in dusty shelves and wisened streets.

Given language, rhythm tune,
Given time to dance and praise,
What tools we have to image you,
What gain we have to seek your face,
And woven to each note and hop,
Are calls to devote them yet again.