Friday, August 26, 2016

Tír na nÓg

I saw Tír na nÓg  
For the first time 

From the car, before Thurles,

While driving on the M8.

All the plants, 

All the trees faced it, 
Pulled to it. 

I felt the pull myself. 

The draw.

And the island? 
A mossy green copse, 
Saturated in spring green. 

On this bright day, 

A wisp of mist hung 

There. Around. 
The rounded island 

Ah, the longing. 

The longing for it lingers.

This poem was first published on the Poethead blog.

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