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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