Elegy November 17

I cannot wind the words and tell the truth

In chanting low the beauty brittled day

Lost to me your raging red haired youth

Keened by the grey gulls of Clontarf’s Bay

The hands that held me. Roots I cannot escape

Seven years gone since that faltering breath

More, the Bull Vale birth bellowing blast

No Achillean glory trumpeting death

Singing the hard anthem of a hero’s last

In an unancient place, unbidden you came

Beckoned by golden green fossil leaves

Your harsh told facts stoked my truth awed flame

Revealing the tale of lizard nibbled trees

Ah, to bludgeon beat the war shadows away

And give that home a heart quickening play