Visions from a page,
The broken stones and big fields.
In the wind, in the blowing of the pipes,
I hear your land bleed in its songs.
To a continent lost and growing darker,
You gave your sons,
Each one a burning candle.
And though beaten,
You were not conquered, not crushed,
Your spirit survives through ages,
Rumbling beneath,
One day to break free.
In my mind or in my ears,
I see your eyes and hear your voice,
Though pain and hardship afflict,
Your gaze still shows to three,
Father, Son and Spirit.
sč
Dublin, May 5th, 2007
No comments:
Post a Comment