Wednesday, September 09, 2015

From the Irish


  
The summer was not so sweet for us,

We did not fly over the high hills

Riding the fine black stallion,

Or lie under the hazel branches

As dew gathered about us,

We did not light bonfires of celebration,

Or blow the horn on the mountainside.


Between us the mountains were forbidding

And the roads long with no turning.







—found in the poetry of Nuala NĂ® Dhomhnaill