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“The land of Maren, my island, calls to me in my fretful sleep. Like dancing ribbons of light, it winds its memories around my starved, yearning torso, tearing at my aching heart. “I am twirling now, unravelling a ribbon memory of light, warm sand and cresting waves around me. “To feel at breath with my unique, native land and to retrace my footprints across its terrains would be ... heavenly.” — Susan L. Marshall
The land of Maren, my island,
calls to me in my fretful sleep.
Like dancing ribbons of light,
it winds its memories around
my starved, yearning torso,
tearing at my aching heart.
“I am twirling now,
unravelling a ribbon memory
of light, warm sand
and cresting waves around me.
“To feel at breath with my
unique, native land
and to retrace my footprints
across its terrains would be ...
heavenly.