Grassy fairy tales,
beyond the town of Athlone,
one-hundred acres.
Ireland's great ringed hills,
the high kings hills of Tara,
sees counties once ruled.
Memoirs are Written,
during the winter solstice,
rays from dawn-to-dark.
An erected stone,
the kings stone of Destiny,
and a dead mans wall.
Missing ancestors,
no longer missing today,
but trapped within you.
Characteristic
cremated remains lie,
accompanied dead.
Fifty miles westbound
the living permission of,
yesterday's future.
Author notes
An extended Haiku written a few years ago when they were considering building over the Hills of Tara.
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