Coverlet Poem by Matt Mooney
Coverlet
Rain ruining the way home
East of Buailtín near noon;
Steering clear of locháns,
With fog on the hills ahead.
No change of light and shade
Of the blood red fuchsia days
In colourful Corca Dhuibhne,
Now only in black and white-
The sun will paint the picture;
The Three Sisters look forlorn
As the rule of November runs
And ends the Indian summer.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/26/2024 6:23:51 AM # 1.0.0.1119
