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End of Series: Weyburn

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 I am moving on from here now. A story is closed... a new chapter opened somewhere. I will have to find it. So... Epilogue Weyburn Yellowgrass You Me We All Too Two fathers buried there now, Weyburn? If not, I can help you with that. Maybe in Yellowgrass Or maybe even in Mauritius? Where the wind nor the dirt makes no difference Except perhaps their disregard of folly with which we encumbered history, For a family is was will be built there, Like to Yellowgrass where I go again this late summer With a daughter to visit gravestones slowly multiplying, For there is no escaping the living graves of our history... All of us immigrants of innocence. Psychiatry our fathers shared They cared Then politics and history again Rewrote rewrites erased erases their efforts One of colour One white Both dead except Alive a flame That they each one mattered too. I loved love my father Regardless of political erasure So too can you I know you do too. What is this faux Canada Who we all fails to recogni