A Cage To Hold My Dreams
The Dusty Road To Tourneena
Night winds howl across dark meadows
Owls sleep soundlessly in sheltered barns
Sheep meditate on perilous slopes
I am at peace in my homeland.
Boyhood memories swamp the quiet evening
Starched white linen and candlewax
Homemade bread and glowing turf fires
Trudging miles to school in all weathers.
Every clump of coarse Brega heather
Mirrors my passionate isolation
Sometimes when the clouds link arms
I cannot hear my thoughts
Above the fanfare of Zarathustra.
We were children of the mountainside
Long before Thermopile,
Before Pompeii groaned beneath the ash
Before the Armada began its voyage
Before Hitler grew his first moustache.
All time is precious. Tomorrow I go to be
photographed for my death certificate.
Back in England I have things to do
Ladies to love, heads to turn,
shoving, shouting, suffering, arguing,
But on the noisy, sweaty Piccadilly Line
Between Holborn and Knightsbridge
My thoughts will be of Ireland
And the dusty road to Tourneena.
Dungarvan, Co Waterford 040403
