Matt Mooney (1943 / South Galway, Ireland.)
Goodbyes at the open front door
On a Sunday morning in Summer;
An aeroplane shines in the sun;
At home I can learn about solitude.
In the town it’s midday mass time-
A time and a place to be peaceful:
A short truce in the struggle of life;
I purchase the Sunday Press paper.
I’m welcomed in home by the dogs
And a friendly telephone caller;
My daughter awakes at it’s ringing;
Once again my world is revolving.
I am able to admire the day’s beauty-
The far distant mountains before me;
Like a train from a tunnel emerging
I have returned to the lap of creation.
(My own translation of my poem in French 'Solitude')
Comments about this poem (Alone by Matt Mooney )
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