So we left the high, windswept ground
To the sheep, and their rocky places
Where remote cottages shelter
Behind a few sentinel pines.
Dropping down winding Glengesh
We found wild fuschia and fern.
Elder blossom the size of dinner plates bloomed.
We followed the leafy glades
Of the Owentocker river
That led us to the old stone bridge at Ardara.
Later the pub door opened to a velvet summer night.
The music a wild tempo
To set toes and fingers tapping
In the Chapel cemetery.
Traditional, timeless music,
Sometimes lonely and solitary with pathos
Of long ago times and
People who passed this way before.
A contest entry
- Your happy place. by samantha jean.
800 points, ended July 21, 2007, 27 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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a wondrous poem that speaks of nature's wise mind with a slip of sadness thrown into the poetry's atmosphere.
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As an irishman myself, i was stolen by the word Donegal, and then dragged the rest of the way in by the piece as a whole, very nicely used imagery here, and an imaginitive piece as a whole.
sorry for the late judgement, and thanks for the entry in the contest -
This is lovely -- very enjoyable, captivating.
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Very fine poem. Makes me want to see this place. I really enjoy a scene like this but here in America everything is being buried under a modern avalanche of new homes and expanding towns. The adventure is dying.
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