O'shea's Rugged Journey Poem by Laura Gail Sweeney

O'Shea knows where wanderers go,
Where water flows upon the coast of Moher,
Along hillsides with sullen pathways.
Not forgotten are those stone walls
Lain in 1849, near bog Kings and Queens
Oh, those Celtic rings, so golden
And pretty with fair reddish hair.
Those who have gone afar
Progeny of gods, adorned with golden jewels
Spiral pins, caverns, remnants, artefacts.
Viking remains, beneath soot, await the future.
They're ghosts on the emerald isle each year
Searching abandoned cottages,
Filled with spirits, topped with soil,
Abandoned potato eaters in unknown ancestral homes
Hence, they free the bog woman who dances gracefully,
Unknown, unbroken, untamed, spiralling.