We must pack our bags and go
to the limits that we know
And beyond, to virgin fields
Where the greener grasses grow.
Journey far and travel lightly,
With our weary steps made sprightly
By the distant prospect’s glow.
So softly in the summer night
Your fragile vessel has set sail,
Back through your Irish Infancy,
Bound for the Islands of the Blest.
We stand upon our adult shores
And through the curtain of our tears
Perceive at last, in all its grace,
Your loving presence in our lives.
Now comes the gathering of our years,
the harvest of our childhood days,
And in the barns of memory
We store the blessings
of your love.
For my brothers and sisters
In loving memory of our Mother 1903 – 1992
Still half asleep,
I turn the key
And venture out
Into the frost.
The moon rides low
Across the sky
The plough still hangs.
His master leads,
The hunter’s pouch
Brimful of stars.
Still wrapped in night
And sleepy eyed,
I start my day.
January 1992 (Poetic licence! Orion and Canis Major are not visible at the same time in January when we are getting up – they have both set by then.)
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