On Missing Ireland

In grey, damp Ireland I stand

By seaweed wall and musseled rock

Drawn back to that amorphous place

I fled with no regret

I went to glass and steel – concrete

Relentless sun, unceasing blue

Brown earth, bright colors, garish glare

In warm seas – shed the grey

On fine, white sand, cavorted, splayed

Oh those were happy, happy days

But paradoxically I found

That I was missing Ireland

Mysterious and unexplained

This ancient gra which has us chained

If hell was our birthplace – well then

‘Tis hell we’d praise with song and pen

I lie in bed as wind and rain

Fling seagulls through the charged air

Remember times long, long ago

My mother bent to stroke my hair

I will stay only for a while

But feel a strange contentment

That I am back on ancient soil

And I’ll be missing Ireland.