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Ireland

in her father’s and her mother’s house

‘Til the End of Time

‘Til the End of Time

(Ireland forever, as it’s said)

 

My, it’s a grim day outside

There may have been fog

That is yet lifting

All I see is white and gray

It’s unsettling, first thing

To look outside

Today’s the day for green and

Orange

Remembering all the snakes

Driven out of Éire without

Wondering where they went

Well, Guinness is dark

And celebratory

So despite the virus going ‘round

I should perk up a peg or two

Remember the McAnallys

Look for some colors, since

The Irish own the rainbow

If not the gold where

The magic arc

Must someday land

All are Irish?  I don’t think so

But all are welcome

Into the saint’s day

A saint who wasn’t Irish, either

But came to own the land

In spiritual ways

Who is remembered for all

Intents and purposes

As a native

Might we remembered, too,

For something spiritual

And native

Created beings of earth and air

 

C L Couch

 

 

Photo by Wynand van Poortvliet on Unsplash

Saltee Island Great, Ireland

 

Banshee

Banshee

 

She calls death one at a time

And only she can do this

How many of her kind

Might number all the realms

She does not know

She cannot

The grammar is of one, no

More

No more can exist at a

Time

 

There is no plural here, for only she

Can split the night

A responsibility of one, and then

Not even that

She folds into time until

Her nature is invoked again

To rend the cloth

To terrify even the somber parts

Of night

Dawn becomes mortality

 

All this is hers

 

C L Couch

 

 

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(Pixabay)

Ireland symbol

 

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