Newgrange # Yeats
Hawthorns are swaying
Outside of Drumcliffe
While herons are patient
Their victims to miff
A Trove of fine treasure
By Boyne’s river mouth
Chests filled with Folklore
In wee county Louth
Swift is the hunter
With arrow and quiver
Softly she rolls
My own Silver River
This pest is upon us
Yet we shall not flinch
With Pike and true valour
We shan’t give an inch
There never has been
A flower so bright
So apt and so scented
The pure Lillie White
No deaths today
A masterful step
Some grist for our mill
A well deserved pep
A large open fire
With crane pot and pan
A gateway of wonder
To when time began
Mysterious Newgrange
A museum of fine art
Carvings in stone
Light to it’s heart
A Leacht is adorning
At Queen Maeve’s grave
And Yeats’ Glencar
Did cleanse Connacht’s brave
Bold Emmet once shouted
Aloud from the dock
‘Be rid of all irons
And banish all stocks’
I faced the great Haka
Performed by the Maori
Then watched the girls dance
Each one had a dowry.
Thanking you ..back soon!
tomclancy 