So far, so far, so far
From lush green mountains
So far, so far, so far
From brown frothing streams
So far, so far, so far
From the homes of my forebears
How did I come to be sent across the sea?

So much is strange here in desert lands
With the endless horizons
And the cold night stars.
The women, engulfed in veils,
Making sooty fires to warm their children.

So far, so far, so far
From hills blanketed with dogwood
So far, so far, so far
From mist shrouded trees
So far, so far, so far
From my family
How did I come to be sent to such a barren land?

Life is so different in this place,
Instead of corn people grow goats
And even death comes so strangely
With blood, bullets, burns, battle
And war planes falling from the sky.

So far, so far, so far
From cold mountain springs
So far, so far, so far
From hymns sung in my boyhood
So far, so far, so far
From the snug log cabin
That sheltered little children from the snow.

Will I ever see those green hills again?
Hold my dear mother against my heart?
Laugh with my brothers and sisters?
See a face that moves me with its feminine beauty?
Until they send me home, I must go on.


To my father, who went from his childhood home in the green and wooded hills in West Virginia to the deserts of northern Africa as part of the Army Air Force in WW2. The memories of the sooty fires and veiled women are among the few wartime experiences he was ever willing to talk about, as he experienced (and wished always to forget) the fighting in northern Afica, and the Allied invasion of Italy.
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