Only Crows Remain – An Ode To Ireland

The banshee wails

Through the green heavens

Of this emerald isle

 

Enticing the young

In her beautiful

Wicked tongue

Baring her allure

 

To the men who come

Warriors, poets, & fools

All sought & all fall

In her handsome gaze

 

Moon come

Moon go

She may be –

– A maiden, mother, or crone

For lust, love, & wisdom

 

In the winds of Éire

A land so green

Land so rich

 

Nobody remembers the ghosts

Who walked the roots & rocks

On this isle of heroes

 

Singing their sadness – in tales of sorrow

Crying their joy – in merry war

 

The circles left broken

Rocks, & crosses

Amidst lore lost

Babes in prayer of invaders

In cloth & blame

 

They can no longer recall

Great Cú Chulainn

Now only the isle

Seems a jest of clovers & gingers

 

People laughing at

The Leprechaun standing

In the ashes of his greatness

 

Could naivety play

You into the jaws

Of Cromm Crúaich

Till bastard Patrick

Strikes his image

Down to the dust

 

And you fools

Seek the sky

With rosary in hand

Crying in the face

Of a carpenter

Standing on the bones

Of warriors & lords

 

Could you not

Curse in Gaelic

Caressing snakes

& demons

 

To slay the devil

With the poison bread

– An inheritance of jokes

& hate, strewn with

Pots of gold & pretty little shamrocks

For a triad of destruction

 

This is all that is left

Crows, ruins, & crosses

 

But the snakes still remain

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