A fog drifts from The Cliffs of Moher
Blanketing the land with a mist
– a mysterious allure
So green and lush velvet-esk;
– imaginary touch
A sight that can only be seen
from high above
And when the spoken word
of storytellers, poets and such,
– mesmerizing imaginations
Wizardry; the enchantment of leprechauns
Myth and lore, a pot of gold
at the end of a rainbow
It is held in the mind
the way one would hold the soul of a lover;
– heart stirring jolt
And far across the Irish Sea
A gentle passion
and creative energy grows
It inspires love
and purity of the soul

There is a fly by Winter Thrushes
The rare Bohemian Waxwing
And as the stars glitter and shine
– backdrop black onyx
I am acutely aware
The powerful Goddess Ériu
Along with time and a bit of good luck
That I have been graced
With the love of an Irishman
Eyes so blue the sky questions
Its own authenticity
And while I drift and wane
There is one simple truth
– to be told
One gentle loving hand,
– to cherish and hold
It is that of an Irishman

©2020 TrilbyYates