Breathes there a man with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
“This is my own, my native land?”
My grandfather’s house in Vancouver, where I stayed one summer at eight years old.
Breathes there a man with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
“This is my own, my native land?”
My grandfather’s house in Vancouver, where I stayed one summer at eight years old.