Ireland

Green as Harp tones in the spring

Liquid and soft like water spilling over the rim

Grey cloud castles dissolve in mild vapour

Or shatter drops on the fields

Languor settles as pebbles rush and heave.

Sea and earth meet

As rainbows splitter the iridescence

Tasting salt and sweet but

Enveloping the hills in golden mist.

Fables and fairies thrive:

From tiny cobbler to howling banshee.

Stone crosses grow on mossy banks

Overlooking abandoned farms

Picturesque, dilapidated

But rich in history and hardships endured

True to destiny, defiant in despair

Never submitting to fate or distress

Glorious past and uncertain future

Affect the hearts and strengthen the minds.

Sound the Bodhrán and let the fiddle sing

Fleet feet will dance in the streets

From Ireland

© HMH, 2013