It is the call of the sea and the crashing waves

the songs of men given up to watery graves

The fishermen's chatter and pony cart's clatter

The seal's call and the wild rain splatter

soaring cliffs and stone walls, row on row

Such is the tune my Soul well knows

 

An ancient language, rolls like a lullaby

The ferry's whistle and the seabird's cry

A knitter sets their needles clacking

A fiddler's tune with a Bodhran backing

Thatched roofs turned golden in the sunset's glow

This is where my Soul longs to go

 

Catherine Lilbit Devine © 2010

Views: 110

Tags: Aran, Inis, Islands, MOr, Poetry, Thatchie

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