Out to sea
there is the snap of a castanet,
Boats are going down
to the tune of the bolero.
Sovereigns are sifted
by old storms.
A bull, bleeding profusely,
makes for Grange.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
...............a powerful and visual write...streedagh is a beautiful place...would love to visit there someday....enjoyed...